Finally Found a Home
by The ORIGINAL Corky
Summary: Dutchy had always known that one day he'd make a good father. He just never expected to become one on his eighteenth birthday. But the life of a newsie is a rough one and no way to raise a child. Will he be able to keep her? Or will he lose her forever?
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Newsies...though I wish I did...mmmm...anyways. I don't even own Kidah, she's property of my best friend, I'm using her with permission so it's all good. Newsies I believe still belong to Disney...the big meanies...I spent four months working for that place and they STILL won't let me have them!! Oh well...someday. I do however, lay claim to any original character that pops up (right now that would be Squints, Corky, and Krista who you'll meet later). I believe that is all.**

**Author's Note: Please be kind and review. I've been working hard on this story and really hope that people enjoy it. Also a slight warning...throughout the story there will be swearing and soft-n-fluffy slash (Sputchy). Nothing too major on either counts and in fact the slash is probably going to be more implied than anything else...unless I get a wild hare and decide to do a bit more than subtle hints/implication :winkwink:. At any rate...enjoy the story and please be sure to leave me a review. Thank you.  
**

* * *

_CHAPTER ONE  
_July 19th, 1902

Dutchy sighed as he leaned his thin frame back against the cool brick wall. The afternoon sun had been brutal that day, melting the tar on the docks and radiated off the streets. Summers had always been his favorite time of the year; he loved the warmth of the sun on his skin, the sights and sounds of everything so alive. Sure it was never fun sweating off pounds he really couldn't afford to lose, but just being able to be outside in the fresh air and spend his free time lounging in the shade of a building or trees to watch the clouds drift lazily by made it all worth it.

He liked to wander through the parks during the summer, hands tucked into his pockets as he whistled to himself, watching as the younger kids—free from their worries of school masters and homework—played ball under the canopy of lush green leaves. On more than one occasion, Dutchy would find himself meandering over to a game if he saw they had an odd number of players and offer to play with them. He loved playing games with the younger kids. He would even find himself getting into the same silly arguments with the "umpire" over a bad call. It didn't matter that he was nearing on being an "adult", for some reason, he still believed in his heart that he was just as young as the kids he joined games with. They seemed to have the same energy and zest for life that he still possessed. All too soon though, the games would be over; the kids all running back to their homes for dinner as the sun would dip below the city and he would once again be alone to wander.

That day in particular Dutchy made sure to spend as much time playing and daydreaming as he could. As he sat against the shipping warehouse, watching the moon reflect off the river, he sighed once more and closed his eyes. A warm breeze brushed against his soft pink skin—the sun having slightly burned it that afternoon as he attempted to sell his papers. He smiled slightly to himself as he felt the gentle wind rustling his straw-blond hair as he leaned his head back in thought. It was becoming more and more difficult for him to sell the papers he hawked on the corner and as he glanced down at the half-dozen unsold evening editions by his side, he couldn't help but wonder why that was. He would change his call and technique every so often to keep things fresh, he would even do flips and dance moves to get people's attention. Lately though, it seemed all it was doing was getting him funny looks from the passerby's.

Reaching a hand up to push his bangs out from his eyes, he blinked twice before pulling his hand away, staring at his arms and hands as if he'd never seen them before. Funny how he never noticed that his wrists stuck a good two inches out past his dirty old shirt cuffs until just then. Stretching his lanky legs out in front of him, he blinked in the moonlight as he noticed even his pants legs were a tad shorter than what he always remembered them being. No wonder people were giving him strange looks on the street. How long had he been walking around in clothes that he'd since out grown and never had the notion to notice?

"I thought I might find you here," A sweet voice said to his right. Lifting his head and pushing his shaggy blond bangs out of his deep blue eyes, Dutchy looked up at the shadow and smiled a little.

"Hey Kidah," he answered, smiling some as he looked back out over the water.

Emily, or Kidah as she was more commonly known as, was a former newsgirl turned writer. She was also the wife to one of Dutchy's best friends, Pie-Eater. Dutch still found it hard to believe that the two had actually gotten married the Christmas before. It hadn't been anything big or spectacular, just a nice private little ceremony with only their closest friends and one of the priests who helped run and support the newsies lodging house. Granted, both Pie and Kid were nineteen already and Pie-Eater—who had started to go more by his real name of Peter than his newsie nickname—had managed to get himself a "real job" working on the docks, it was still hard for Dutchy to picture them as anything other than the kids he'd grown up with.

Kidah smiled as she leaned against the wall next to his head and placed a caring hand on his hair. She'd always had an instinctive maternal aura about her that made her seem far beyond her age and always made Dutchy just want to tug on her sleeve and playfully ask what she would be making them all for dinner that night.

"What brings you out this way this time of night?" He questioned, picking a rock up from next to him and lamely tossing it towards the water.

"Pie-Eater. He'd forgotten something in the warehouse and had to come back for it, so I decided to tag along. Figured it was a nice night and knowing you, you'd be out either wandering or soaking in peace and quiet next to the water. Looks like I was right." She answered with a small chuckle as she looked out over the water.

"Yeah," Dutch said softly, staring out in front of him, "you usually are right."

"That's why I'm the mommy," was Kidah's response. Dutchy couldn't help but laugh some as he shook his head. That phrase had always been one of her favorite things to say, even when she was still living in a lodging house, and given that most of the younger ones had often looked to her as a mother figure it had always stood true.

The pair sat in silence for a time, listening to the crickets chirp and the occasional gurgle from the river as different water bound animals would move in and out of the lazy current. The full moon above cast its pale white glow down around them, causing tiny sparkling diamonds to appear in the water. Closing his eyes once more as another gust of warm air rushed against him, he wished he could stay outside like that forever.

"Oh…here, I was going to wait until tomorrow to give you this but, well, now seems like as good of a time as any," Kidah said, breaking the silence between them as she dug into her pocket and pulled a rectangular shaped item from it.

Dutchy cast his wire-framed glasses up towards her and knitted his eyebrows together in confusion. It was funny how, even at nineteen and as a married woman none-the-less, Kidah still would wander the streets dressed in long pants and a men's shirt. He supposed it only seemed right though since the paper she did correspondence for thought she was in fact a man and that her name was Emile instead of Emily. Reaching out to take the package from her, he tilted his head to one side.

"What's this for?"

"You're birthday, Muttonhead. I was going to give it to you tomorrow, but seeing as how that's when everyone else will be showering you in love and affection and gifts, I thought I'd give it to you now. Well don't just sit there staring at it, open it!"

Dutchy broke into a wide smile as he tore into the plain brown paper. He hadn't exactly been looking forward to turning eighteen the following day, which was why he'd spent so much of this time that day trying to act as much as a child as he could while he still had the chance. It wasn't that he didn't enjoy his birthday; he did, and for as long as he could remember his birthdays had always been fairly decent. True there had been years where all he had gotten was a verbal good wish for the day and not a single present, but it hadn't mattered to him. People cared enough about him to at least wish him a happy birthday, and that was really all that mattered to him. Though, for some reason, the thought of turning eighteen had seemed to bring his excitement to an end.

"What is it?" He questioned.

"It's a book!"

Rolling his eyes and giving a small smile, he glanced back up at her. "I can tell _that much_, I mean…what book is it? I can't see the title."

"Oh…it's called _The Sketch Book. _It's a collection of Washington Irving stories, like Rip Van Winkle and The Legend of Sleepy Hollow. I thought you might like it. Apparently Washington would go up North of the city and listen to old Dutch ghost stories and such and, well…I don't know, it made me think of you." Kidah answered with a shrug as she leaned against the wall and looked down at him. "Do you like it?"

Smiling, Dutchy slowly opened the cover and ran his hand down the smooth cool page inside. He hated to admit that he'd never owned a single book in all his life and that her gift meant more to him than he could even begin to describe. Nodding, he closed it again and stood up to give her a thanking hug.

"I love it, thank you. Just one thing," Arching an eyebrow, he tilted his head a little and chuckled, "you guys _do know_ I'm not really Dutch, right? I mean, don't get me wrong I love the thought but, I still want to know why everyone thinks just because I go by Dutchy that it automatically makes me Dutch."

Kidah laughed as she smiled and hugged him back.

"I know you're not, but I still thought you might like it, anyways."

"I do, I love it, really. Thank you, Kidah. I mean it. This is probably the best birthday present I've ever gotten." Dutchy smiled as he pulled back from the hug and looked back down at the book in his hands. He couldn't wait to get back to the lodging house and sprawl out on the foyer floor to read by lamp light.

Nodding and tucking her hands behind her back, Kidah glanced over her shoulder as she saw the light from a couple warehouses down go out and a lone figure step out the door. Smiling wistfully, she gave a small sigh before looking back at her friend.

"That's Pie-Eater, I better get going. I'll see you tomorrow night, though!"

"Heh, tomorrow night…right. I'll see you then. Say hi to your guy for me. The bunkroom sure isn't the same without him in there."

"I will, Dutch." Kidah gave a small smile as she leaned in and up to give his cheek a quick peck before squeezing his arm and turning to head off down the dock to where her husband stood waiting for her.

Dutch gave a wave to the pair, smiling slightly in the moonlight as he watched them walk off. Leaning down to scoop up his unsold papers, he looked back down at his book and couldn't keep the wide smile from spreading across his face. It had been a very, very long time since he'd had any form of a bedtime story, now thanks to the thoughtfulness of his friends he had an entire book filled with stories for him to read at the end of the night. Looking up at the moon directly over head, Dutchy took in a deep, contented breath before he started his leisurely stroll back to Duane Street where his nickel-a-night bunk sat waiting for his return.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's note: Slight subtle Sputchy goin' on here...and some minor swearing. Other wise pretty clean wholesome fun!**

* * *

_CHAPTER TWO_  
July 20th, 1902

"Shush! Don't wake him up!"

"Why not? How comes he gets ta sleep in?"

"'Coz it's his boithday, dat's why. Now shut yer trap an' get outta 'ere."

Opening an eye slowly, Dutchy silently watched as the three blurred figures across the room moved about their business. He didn't have the heart to tell them that he'd actually been awake for well over an hour already, he just hadn't wanted to get out of bed just yet. Birthday's and Christmas morning were the only days Kloppman allowed his lodgers to sleep past his early morning wake up call.

Giving a small smile as he watched the two taller blurs usher the smaller one out the door, he sighed contently as he rolled over to look out the windows. The sun was already shining brightly, warming the room considerably. Blinking at the brightness of the room, Dutchy yawned as he stretched his shoulders and arms. It was nice being able to sleep in and not have to think about selling that day. He'd had enough spare change saved up that he could afford to take the day off and still be able to get something to eat and pay for his bunk again that night.

Raking a hand through his greasy blond hair, he reached to the iron headboard of his top bunk and pulled his glasses off. He had just put them on and moved to lie on his back to stare at the ceiling for a moment when a streak of black and white landed square across his stomach.

"Omph!"

"Mornin' D! 'Bout time you woke your lazy ass up!"

"Get off me, you fuckin' idiot! Your elbow nearly got me right in the junk!" Dutchy exclaimed as he struggled to sit up and shove his near-lifelong best friend off his stomach.

Specs smiled wickedly as he slid back down to the floor. "Nearly isn't did, so you should be thankin' me for my perfect aim an' missin' it."

"Perfect aim nothin'…you couldn't hit the broad side of a barn with a watermelon if your life depended on it." Dutchy answered smugly as he moved to sit up and sling his long skinny legs over the side of his bunk. Specs shrugged as he rested his arms on his friend's knees.

"A minor detail. C'mon…get yer pale ass outta bed and get dressed. Dere's people waitin' downstairs ta wish ya a happy birthday."

"Do I at least get to wash up, first? I'd really kinda like to get cleaned up today."

"You look and smell fine to me. Just throw some tonic in your hair, splash on some of that toilet water Race calls aftershave and you'll be good to go." The brown haired teen said as he thwacked his best friend's leg before taking a couple of steps back. Dutchy couldn't help but give him a partly amused partly mock disturbed look at his friend's closeness and his subtle signs of affection. Giving a smile as he shook his head, he hopped from the bunk and moved towards the washroom.

"They've waited this long for me; they can wait another ten minutes for me to get washed up." He called, moving for the wash basin. Specs groaned and rolled his eyes as he moved to follow him.

"Ten minutes…right…who are you and what have you done with Dutchy if it's gonna take you only ten minutes to actually get 'washed up'. I swear D, you're worse than a skirt."

"Hey! I am not! At least I'm not like Jack or Mush…having to make sure they look their absolute best at all times just in case they happen to meet a good lookin' girl. I only wanna look my best on special occasions. And this, _Clarence_ happens to be a special occasion." Dutchy smirked evilly as he grabbed a towel off the shelf and moved into a stall, his best friend staring after him with wide eyes and a slack jaw.

"You are askin' for it, D! You're lucky it's your birthday; otherwise I'd hafta kill you for that!"

Dutchy laughed as he shed his clothes and quickly began to wash up. He could hear Specs wandering back and forth in the washroom, nudging the small wooden step stools back under the counter with his foot, and putting the few combs and straight-edge razors back into their respective cups by the tiny mirrors. After a moment or two of silence, Dutchy stuck his head out from around the corner of the stall door and looked around.

"Specs? You still up here?"

"No, I left fifteen minutes ago."

"Heh…would you go grab my shirt and pants off my bunk? I forgot to grab 'em and I've kinda got soap in my eyes," He called, blinking repeatedly as he struggled to get the burning suds out of his eyes. He heard a small snork followed by the shuffling of feet as he ducked back into the stall.

"Here ya bum. Now hurry up, already! You've been in there for ten minutes already!" Specs tossed the wad of clothes over the top of the stall door and leaned back against the wall to wait. He loved giving Dutchy a hard time; it was a nice way to pass the time, plus it was always nice to watch him get flustered. Though he'd never right out admit it, Specs always loved watching his near albino friend start to blush.

Emerging from the stall in just his long pants, his suspenders hanging down around his waist while he held his freshly cleaned tan button-up shirt in one hand, Dutch moved for the water pump and stuck his head under it. Glancing blindly up at Specs, he motioned to the handle.

"Help a fella out?"

Specs groaned as he rolled his eyes and moved to the water pump. Giving the handle a few swift thrusts, he stuck a hand out into the cold flow of water and rustled it through the soap covered blond locks in an attempt to help his friend get ready quicker.

"You just pump the water; I'll worry about getting the soap out of my hair, alright?"

"Well then hurry up! You'll be turnin' nineteen before you get a chance to enjoy bein' eighteen at this rate!"

Sighing and shaking his head a little, Dutchy did his best to finish quickly—mostly so that Specs would quit hassling him and partly because he was anxious to see what his friends had in store for him that day. Finally satisfied that he'd gotten all the soap from his hair, Dutchy smiled brightly as he flung his head up out of from the stream, sending large drops and gobs of water spraying all over. He laughed as Specs jumped back as if the cold liquid was going to burn him or cause him to melt.

Replacing his glasses on his face once more and quickly rustling the towel over his head, Dutch couldn't help but hum to himself. Something in him said it was going to be a good day. Leaving the towel hanging over his head, he tugged his shirt on and began to button it up. Normally on hot summer days he'd leave it partly open, exposing his white undershirt and hopefully help keep him cool; this wasn't a normal day though and Dutch soon found himself buttoning his shirt all the way up. It felt rather suffocating and stuffy, but given the occasion, he supposed he could deal with it for at least a little while. Trading the towel in for his hat, Dutchy turned to look at Specs.

"How do I look?"

Specs tilted his head to the side and scrunched his face up in pretend thought. Tapping a finger against his cheek, the brown haired teen moved to examine his friend more closely. "You look…like shit but nothing can change what nature gave ya. You look fine, alright, now will you c'mon already!? I'm sick of dealin' with your slow ass."

Dutchy laughed as he dodged out of the way of Specs' hat baring hand and ducked towards the doorway leading into the hall.

The lodging house wasn't anything big or fancy, then again, none ever were anything fantastic to look at, but to the boys and occasional sneaky/brave girls who stayed there each night, it was home. True it was hot and cramped during the summer, reeking of dirty bodies and sweat soaked clothes--then drafty and cold in the winter, the boys often sharing bunks just to keep warm, but that hardly ever seemed to bother any of them. To most of the newsboys, like Specs and most of the little ones, the Newsboys Lodging House on Duane Street is the only home they'd ever known.

There was a time in Dutchy's life when he'd had a real home with a family to match. His parents, along with an older brother, had immigrated to the United States just months before he was born. True they had to share their tiny apartment with two other families, and meals were often hard to come by, they'd been happy. Dutchy had been an especially happy young boy, always had a smile on his face and eager to help with anything anyone in their crowded apartment had needed. There had been many Christmases when he would give his small toy or piece of candy to one of the other children living with them, or had found a way to make his own presents to give to people on their birthdays when money had been too tight to buy anything. Even after he lost everything he'd ever known, Dutchy had managed to stay as strong he could.

There were so many good memories hidden in the walls of that lodging house, times that Dutchy wouldn't trade for all the money in world.

As he rounded the corner, a bright smile spread across his face as he saw most of his best friends standing at the front desk waiting for him, a small scattering of plainly wrapped gifts with them.

"Hey hey! Dere 'e is!"

"It's about time!"

"We was beginnin' ta worry 'bout'cha's."

Specs rolled his eyes as he moved between Dutchy and the wall. "The bum had to make sure he was beautiful before comin' down."

"Aw, Dutch is always beautiful. Now dat Jackyboy's gone, he's da prettiest one in dis joint." A girl with a thick Brooklyn accent joked, a small smirk playing on her face as she leaned against the counter nonchalantly.

A cry of protests arose from the group as Dutchy blushed slightly and jumped the last step. The girl shrugged and gave an unfazed look at her friends.

"Ya'll know it's true! Da laddah o' pretty boys in dis joint was always Jackyboy followed closely by Dutch…aftah him, it's anybodies guess—ya'll get pretty homely lookin' from dere down."

"You better watch yourself, Corks. Dem's fightin' words." Swifty said looking rather offended at her remarks. Corky turned an arched brow in his direction and tilted her head.

"You wanna make somet'in' of it, Swift? I may be small, but I ain't helpless. I could knock ya on yer ass before you could even blink."

Deciding to change the subject and lighten the air, Kidah—who was standing next to her smiling husband—smiled brightly and motioned to the counter where the presents sat. Moving to take her friend by the arm, she led Dutch over to the crowd.

"Why don't you open your gifts, Dutchy?" She suggested picking up one of the smaller brown papered gifts. Nearly unable to contain himself, Dutch couldn't help but allow the glowing smile to spread across his face. As calmly as possible, he tore into the paper, anxious to see what was inside.

"Dat's from me, I made 'em myself. Took me forever ta do, but I gotta say…they turned out nicely." Race said proudly. Glancing up for just a moment to smile at his friend, Dutchy looked back down at his hands as he felt two small smooth wooden cubes in his fingers. Looking at what he held, his smile faded slightly.

"Dice. Hey, thanks Race." He said doing his best to sound excited about them. It was a fairly well known fact among the newsies that when it came to any sort of gambling, Dutchy was about as lucky as a penny-slug.

"Yer welcome. Maybe later we can all test 'em out,"

"Yeah and make sure you didn't rig 'em so that we all lose every time." Specs joked, shoving his smaller friend's shoulder while laughing. Dutchy gave a small chuckle as he nodded and set them off to the side.

"Yeah…maybe."

"'Ere…dis is from e'erybody down at Da Harbor." Corky slid a somewhat larger package across the countertop to him and smirked slightly. Da Harbor was another Newsie Lodging House in Brooklyn that Corky was self-proclaimed leader of.

Bright eyes twinkling, Dutchy tore the wrapping off and once again felt his heart sink. _A slingshot…of course it is._

"Heh, thanks Corks. Thank everybody when you get back for me, too. Looks great." _Never mind the fact I've never used one before in my life._

Corky shrugged smugly as she shoved herself off the counter and started for the door.

"Don't t'ink o' it. I bettah get goin' b'fore Twinks burns da joint ta da ground. Lord alive, dat goil. Eight years old an' not a lick o' common sense. Take care o' yerself Dutch." She called as her back disappeared out the door and into the crowded street, followed by closely by Swifty out on his way to sell papes.

Glancing back at the other three gifts, Dutchy was beginning to feel slightly discouraged. There was a slightly larger gift with two smaller ones sitting on top. Reaching for one of the smaller ones, he saw his pals Blink and Mush look at each other and smile before looking back at him. It was an odd shaped gift with an even odder wrapping job. Nearly afraid to open it, Dutchy slowly undid the paper and felt his cheeks flare up.

"What is it Dutch?" Kidah asked, moving to try and see what was in his hands while Blink and Mush both erupted in laughter. His heart flopping against his stomach, Dutchy shook his head and wrapped it back up.

"Nothin'…it's just…"

"Aw c'mon Dutch! Don't get bashful! Not like Kid ain't never seen it all before!" Mush laughed, nudging Blink with his elbow as Specs reached out to take the gift from his bright red best friend.

"Yeah! She's got da same stuff as dat, show 'er! Da youngah kids ain't 'round!" Blink piped up looking quite proud of himself and Mush. Dutchy tried to smile and give a slight laugh as Specs eyes widened and his jaw dropped.

"Sweet Holy Sabbath! Where'd you guys get _this?!_"

"What _is it?!_"

"It's a nudie statue! Some fella's down at da docks was sellin' 'em. Said he made dat one himself, modeled by a goil in Spain. Ain't she a beaut?" Mush said wistfully as he took the wooden statue back from Specs to admire it again. Kidah's eyes widened as she looked to her thoroughly embarrassed friend. Dutchy stared intently at the scarred countertop, memorizing the names and dates engraved on it hoping to high Heaven his face would stop burning soon. He could hear Racetrack nearly dying with laughter as he fought to take the statue away from Mush.

"Ey! Lemme see dat!"

"You boys are _horrible_!!" Kid exclaimed, moving to swat all three of them. "I'd say I can't believe you both, but that'd be a lie, I do believe you'd actually pay money for something so degrading."

"Aw c'mon Kid! It ain't as bad as all dat! 'Sides! He's eighteen now! It's about time he saw a goil naked instead of all us guys!" Blink yelped doing his best to dodge the girl's hand. Dutchy gulped hard as his face burned a brighter shade of red. Even the part in his hair was a bright shade of pink and he was sure he had to look incredibly ridiculous.

"That's it, you boys scoot! Out with all of you! And take your nudie statue with you!"

Specs and Pie-Eater both laughed as they watched Kidah ushering the boys out of the foyer and away from the embarrassed teen. Moving to pat him on his shoulders and get him to look back up, Pie-Eater picked up the other small gift and held it out.

"Here, this one might be better."

Hesitantly taking it, Dutch sighed as he opened it. So far he'd yet to receive any gift that involved something he enjoyed. Dice, a slingshot, and an embarrassing statue of a naked girl…all things the giver enjoyed, but not him. Gulping, he blinked down at his hand.

"It's a pocket knife," Specs said from his side, resting a hand on his shoulder. "I found it on the street the other day. It's really nice too, look at dis. It's got all dese little gizmo's and different types of blades, probably real expensive."

Dutchy watched as Specs took the small red knife from him and began to show him everything it came equipped with. True it was useful and maybe even practical, but it still wasn't anything that he thought he would even buy for himself given the chance. Sighing and nodding a little, he forced a smile on his face as he took it back.

"Thanks Specs, I really appreciate it."

Specs smiled brightly as he nodded, watching as Kloppman gently nudged the last gift towards the three remaining boys. Pie-Eater gave a small smile as Kidah moved back to them, slipping her arm around him and smiling brightly at Dutchy who was reluctantly opening his final gift. Finally, a small, slightly sad, smile spread across his face as he looked down in front of him. Pulling the copper colored shirt out of the paper, he held it up to look it over. He could tell just by looking at it that it was at least one size too small, but at least Kloppman _tried_ to get him something he truly wanted and needed.

"Thanks Kloppman; I was needing a new shirt." He said with a slight laugh as he glanced at the sleeves of the shirt he was wearing. Kloppman gave a kind smile as he patted Dutchy's arm before starting for the back room.

"You're welcome, Dutchy. Now you kids get out of here. Do you think those papers are going to sell themselves? Go, I've got work to do myself."

Kidah smiled as she moved to give Dutchy a gentle hug. "Happy birthday, Dutch." She said softly, placing a sweet kiss on his cheek. Smiling slightly, he blushed some as he nodded and hugged her back. Of all the people who'd been there to see him when he woke up, Kidah was the only one to actually wish him a happy birthday, and give him a gift he actually enjoyed—even if he was having some trouble reading it at night.

"Thanks Kid." Pulling back, he glanced at the counter, half tempted to just leave everything there and head out on his own for the day. Deciding against it and not wanting to seem ungrateful, he gathered the gifts, wrapped them in his new shirt, and turned towards the stairs. "I'm just gonna go put this stuff with the rest of my things. I'll catch up to you guys later."

"Hey, drop by Tibby's around five. Kid an' I will buy you dinner." Pie-Eater smiled up at his friend as he shuffled up the stairs. Pausing for a moment, Dutchy gave a slight smile.

"I'll try. Thanks again, guys." He answered, his voice hinting at his disappointment in the day so far. Glancing back at the tiny bundle in his arms, Dutchy sighed and finished trudging up the stairs to the bunkroom.

Sighing heavily and shuffling towards the walkway between his and Squints' bunk, he opened the shared chest and placed his things inside. "Some birthday this is turning out to be…"


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

Dutchy wandered the streets of Manhattan aimlessly. He'd gone to the park in hopes of finding a ball game in progress that he could join in on only to find the gang of kids he usually played with had found a new boy to fill in the odd ball spot and weren't in need of him anymore. There was a stickball game in an alley he'd offered to play on, but was chased off by a mother who didn't want her son associating with "street trash" like him. Fellow newsies and friends passed him on the street, greeting him brightly before moving on their way never once stopping to talk or wish him a happy birthday.

As the day dragged on, large dark clouds rolled into the city, blocking the bright sunshine from earlier and casting a slightly chilly breeze down into the streets and alleys below. The air stank of the oncoming summer storm. Occasionally a low rumble would drift to Dutchy's ears and cause him to squint skyward to watch the clouds just in case. Tiny whirlwinds kicked the dirt up off the street and sent it twisting and twirling by his feet. Everywhere he looked, Dutchy saw the signs of a nasty storm brewing. Shop owners scurried and scuttled about to bring their displays back into the safety of their stores before they got carried away by the ever increasing gusts of wind while mothers called down to their children ordering them back inside before their clothes could get wet and muddied.

Most of his friends had finished selling for the day by the time the clouds began to leak lightly down on him. He wasn't sure what time it was exactly, the pocket watch he'd gotten on his tenth birthday—a gift from Specs he was nearly certain had been lifted off a fat-cat businessman when he wasn't looking—had stopped working the summer before when he'd been playfully shoved into the pier fully clothed and hadn't been able to properly dry the gold timepiece. Though it was permanently stuck at three-quarters-past-four, Dutchy hadn't been able to bring himself to simply get rid of it or store it away. He still carried it with him every day, mostly out of habit but also because it felt good to have something so nice and expensive with him at all times. He was fairly certain he'd missed his chance for a free birthday dinner at Tibby's courtesy of Kidah and Pie-Eater.

The sky darkened as the rain continued to fall, the clouds moving from a pale grey to a near black color while Dutchy moved slowly through the city. His clothes and shoes already soaked clean through, he didn't see the point in hurrying back to the lodging house quite yet. Shoving his hands deep into his pants pockets, he ducked out of the way of a passing trolley and moved off down a side alley towards the docks. For as long as he could remember, Dutchy had always been drawn to the rivers surrounding their island. There was something timeless and soothing about the waterways that seemed to provide him with a kind of comfort nothing else could. Even as a child he would run to play down by the East River, watching the barges and ships move lazily by while across the way in Brooklyn the harbor workers would bustle about loading and unloading precious cargo.

Sighing heavily to himself, Dutchy sat at the edge of the dock, his long lankly legs hanging over while his fingers clasped the planks. The rain was falling sheets, dancing rapidly across the river, churning the murky waters and causing small waves to lap up at his old shoes as they crashed against the wall of the embankment. Bright flashes of lightning zigzagged across the sky, bouncing from cloud to cloud and occasionally connecting with the ground off in the distance, followed closely by the rumbles and cracks of thunder above.

The littler kids back at the lodging house were probably huddled together either in the bunkroom or foyer, jumping and crying out with each flash and rumble while the older ones did their best to ignore the noise. Some older newsies—like Dutchy and Specs--would offer comfort to the younger ones, suggesting games or stories to try and take their minds off the storms. True they would do that to try and help the little ones, but it was also a good way to hide their own dislike and discomfort of the weather. Now as Dutchy sat in the near wide open dock, his stark blond hair plastered to his head and bangs blocking his view, the storms and his fear of them didn't seem quite as bad for some reason. Closing his eyes and leaning his head back, allowing his hair to fall out of his face and for the cold hard pellets of rain to beat down against his eyes and cheeks, Dutchy thought back to a time when he was much younger.

"_Papa!"_

"_Me Pasha, why you cry?" A tired but kind looking man asked as he scooped the five year old girl up in his arms to hold her close. The sky erupted in a wild display of lightning flashes causing the child to yelp and bury her face in her father's shirt. Giving a small laugh, the man ran his hand down her soft light sandy blond curls and held her close before glancing to the bed next to the window where a small lump was curled up under the thin blanket._

"_Me Pasha, where is Dee? Has he run away to the circus? Is that why you cry?"_

"_D-Dutchy he…he hiding. The storm, it scare us." Came Pasha's reply as she looked back to the bed where her brother laid cowering under the blanket. A moment later, a tuff of extreme blond hair appeared followed by a pair of bright and frightened blue eyes—not yet obstructed by glasses. Giving a hearty laugh, Petro Kolesnik sat down on the bed still holding his daughter. Shifting the girl to his other side, Petro moved the blanket down so he could see his son better and motioned for the boy to come sit next to him. Scurrying out from under the blanket and moving to snuggle against his father, the seven-year-old boy with striking blue eyes hugged himself close to the man and his younger sister._

"_Me children, why you hide? The storm, it is nothing to be ascared of. You are safe inside where it not reach you."_

"_I…I wasn't hiding! I…I was…uhm…I was trying to sleep!" The little boy Dutchy said, trying to sound brave though the tremble in his voice proved differently. Petro smiled down at his son and did his best to smooth out the unruly mop of blond hair that stuck up in all directions. His only remaining family was those two kids, and though he was hardly at home to take care of them himself, he did his best to make sure that they never went to bed hungry and got a proper education. Tilting Dutchy's head up and gently tapping his chin to have him open his mouth, Petro nodded as he examined the half a front tooth that was still growing in and the bare place next to it where the other had yet to start cutting through. _

"_Ah, yes of course you were, me Dee. Then it is just me Pasha who is frightened. Why you not comfort her if she is frightened and you are not?"_

_Dutchy looked down at his feet dangling over the side of the bed and blushed slightly. He wanted to be big and brave like his father and the other men sharing their riverside tenement, but he was far from it. Small and frail for his age, Dutchy was about as brave as a mouse when it came to storms or speaking up in class._

_Smiling brightly and looking into her father's eyes, Pasha patted at his cheek lightly with her pointer finger. "It ok, Papa. Dutchy take good care of me and even let me hold Ivas so I not be so ascared." She said pointing to the small and sad looking stuffed doll at the head end of their shared bed._

_Eyes wide with surprise Petro sat back a little to look at his profusely blushing son. "This is true, me Dee? You let your sister hold Ivas?"_

"_A-Aleksander gave it to me…so…so that I wouldn't be scared. So…so I let Pasha hold it so maybe she wouldn't be scared no more either." He answered bashfully, looking up at his father with wide innocent eyes. A small proud smile spread across his father's face as he placed a large hand on his thin little shoulder._

"_You are good boy, Dmitri Kolesnik…your mother and Aleksander, they would be very proud of how good a boy you are. One day, you will make fine father."_

Thunder crashed over head, startling Dutchy out of his distant memory and nearly causing him to jump clear out of his skin. The rain had started to let up finally though the storm was clearly right on top of the city still. Deciding it was time to finally get in out of the storm; Dutch pushed himself back up onto his feet and moved towards the Brooklyn Bridge, heading east in order to get to his lodging house. As he got closer to the bridge, a strange noise echoed off its stone pillars and rang hauntingly in his ears. Eyebrows knitting in confusion, he paused to glance out over the water. He'd heard people crying under the bridge before, children who had no place to call home without any family to look after them and the old drunk bums who burned driftwood in their trash buckets to keep warm, but the noise he heard faintly bouncing out from under the bridge was nothing like any he'd heard before.

Moving closer to the water, Dutchy strained his eyes to see into the darkness in hopes of finding what was making the strange wailing and gurgling noise. He could see an object floating down the river towards him not more than twenty or thirty feet out but couldn't for the life of him make out what it was clearly. Again the cry rang up, filling his head with its pitiful sound. Afraid that some horrible person had tossed an animal into an old barrel before tossing it into the river to either sink-or-swim, Dutchy's eyes widened when in the bright flash of lightning he saw what appeared to be a child's head sticking out of the top of it. Water sloshed up over the sides of the open barrel, filling it more and more.

Yanking his glasses off and tucking them down safely between his chest and undershirt, Dutch dove into the river praying he could get to the quickly sinking barrel before it went completely under taking its unfortunate passenger with it. The current was stronger than usual thanks to the storm and the teen found it a bit more difficult to navigate and swim through than he'd been used to. Muddy water stung his eyes as he did his best to keep his own head up. The barrel still in his sights, Dutchy swam harder against the current. His legs and lungs burned from the effort as his finger tips finally brushed against the wooden barrel just as it was about to completely submerge. Blindly grabbing at whatever he could grasp, he felt his fingers wrap around a small pudgy limb. Pulling it up and against him, Dutchy didn't have time to think or wonder what he'd just saved from drowning as he struggled to swim back to land before he himself was sucked down to a watery grave.

It was a difficult task swimming with only one free hand, the river moving them further and further west of the bridge. Panting heavily and spitting back the water that made its way into his mouth, Dutchy's muscles ached and screamed against the strain. If he could just get himself another three feet closer to the embankment, the current would eventually wash him up against a dock, it was just a matter of getting those three feet closer that worried him. Whatever he'd pulled from that barrel was nearly a dead weight in his arm, pulling his chest down into the river again and again.

_Oh this is great…the day I turn eighteen is also the day I lose my life trying to save some stinkin' animal. Best. Birthday. Ever. _He thought sarcastically as he forced his legs and free arm to keep moving, pushing himself through the water towards dry land. Closing his eyes, he felt himself get completely submerged in the water for just a moment before bobbing back up. Coughing and sputtering, he thought for certain he'd just killed not only what he still held in his arm but himself also. There was no way he'd be able to make it to the embankment.

Just then, his shoulder and head cracked hard into something solid. Groaning and his vision going fuzzier than it already was, Dutchy blinked a few times before wrapping his free arm around the wooden pillar he'd just crashed into. It was a dock! Hope filled his aching body as he looked around for anything he could use to pull himself up with. Directly across from him, on the other side of the dock, was a rope ladder. The water a bit calmer under the wooden dock, Dutchy did his best to float towards the ladder. Once his fingers felt the coarseness of the fraying ropes, his heart leaped to his throat. He'd done it! He wasn't going to die on his birthday after all!

Pulling himself up and over the side of the pier, he fell onto his back, water pooling around him on the wooden planks. Dutchy heaved a heavy sigh of relief as he blinked up at the darkened sky. Reaching into his undershirt, he pulled his glasses back out and replaced them on the bridge of his nose before rolling onto his side to see what he'd just risked his very life to save. Lying deathly still on the planks next to him was a little girl no more than one or two years old. Her hair was a tangled mess and her rags for clothes were tattered and torn around her tiny body while her thin little lips were turning a pale shade of blue. Dutchy felt his heart stop and his face pale. Scrambling to sit up, he pulled the little girl into his arms and quickly began to beat on her back, hoping to be able to dislodge the water from her lungs.

"C'mon…cough…please cough…c'mon an' cough damnit!" he exclaimed, the heel of his hand connecting again and again with her tiny back while his other hand held her chest steady. Nearing the point of being frantic, Dutchy did everything he could think of to possibly save her young life. Still begging for her to cough up the water, he felt his hand connect with her back one last time before she finally gave a startling hack.

Relief washing over him, Dutch continued to pat on her back, urging her to keep coughing. He watched as her little body shivered and heaved while she coughed and emptied the water from her stomach onto the planks in front of her. Giving a small laugh, his hand moved soothingly over her back until she'd finished coughing and getting sick, all the while her lungs getting more and more air to power her fearful cries.

"Shhh…hey, you're ok now. I've got you, you're alright. Everything's gonna be fine." He said softly, moving his hand to push her hair out of her terrified little face. Turning her to face him, he felt a faint smile spread across his face as he looked her over. Aside from being terrified and having nearly drowned, she seemed to be just fine. Moving to take his none-too-dry over shirt off, he wrapped it around her in hopes that it would be a little bit warmer than the thin rags she had on.

"You're ok now. C'mon, let's get you some place dry and warm."

Picking her up and feeling her arms wrap securely around his neck, Dutchy bit back memories of his younger sister and how she would do the same when they were children. Keeping his arms around her and flipping his head to knock his bangs out of his eyes, Dutchy moved quickly through the empty streets. Ducking through every back alley and short cut he could think of to get them back to the lodging house, he hoped he'd be able to sneak her in past Kloppman and get her into some dry clothes without much trouble from the other lodgers present.


	4. Chapter 4

**Warning: Slight fluffly slash towards the end of this chapter...borderline bawdy actually ::blushblush:: Sorry, I was in one of those moods. lol!**

* * *

CHAPTER FOUR

The rain had begun beating down in cold pellets again, drumming out rapid beats against everything it hit. Gusts of wind funneled down between the closely built structures, knocking boxes and cans over as if they were feathers, making it difficult at times for Dutchy to walk a straight line. Never before had he ever experienced such a wicked storm. It felt as if the city was being sucked into a black hole with little to no mercy for its inhabitants. Bums and vagabonds huddled close together against the dead ends of alleyways, clutching to each other just to make sure none of them was picked up and carried away.

By the time Dutchy made it back to the Duane Street Lodging House his entire body stung of wind burn. His face and hands were red from the constant barrage of rain bullets hitting against him and he felt as if he would never fully dry out. He only hoped that the little girl he held securely in his arms didn't wind up with pneumonia thanks to their swim and the wind. Bursting through the door, he quickly moved through the foyer heading for the stairs. Just a few leaps up the wooden stairs, around the corner and two bounds down and he'd be safe in the bunkroom. Just as his right foot landed on that first stair, a shadow moved to his right and stopped him.

"Uh…what'chu got there, Dutchy?"

Busted. Sighing, Dutch turned to face the proprietor and the newsboys friend, Kloppman. No one knew for sure just how old Kloppman was, but all were certain that he'd been the original caretaker of the building; some speculated that he had been the first newsboy _ever _in New York City, though no one could prove nor disprove that theory. All the boys _really_ knew was that he'd been married once upon a time and had had one son. Some of the much, _much_ older newsboys—the ones who had long since stopped selling and had moved on to either a respectable life with a family of their own finally, or were rotting in the state penitentiary—remembered Kloppman's son as being a fine young man who could have done anything he wanted. Unfortunately, what he wanted was to join the military. His choice to go to sea as part of the Naval Branch ended up costing the freshly turned twenty-year-old his life. As for Kloppman's wife, Dutchy had heard once as a younger boy that she had died giving birth to their stillborn daughter when his son was only a year or two old.

"I uh…" Dutchy gulped hard, suddenly feeling like a child caught stealing candy. It was the same feeling of nerves and near panic he would get when asked to speak up in class as a younger boy. Kloppman frowned slightly as he reached an age worn hand out to tug the copper colored shirt down around the little girl's terrified face.

"No…no girls allowed here, Dutch, no matter how little." He stammered, shaking his head. Dutchy's eyes widened as he moved to stand on the floor again, his arms still wrapped tightly around her.

"Kloppman, I wasn't gonna keep her! I drug her out of the river, she nearly drowned! I just wanted to get her in some dry clothes and get her warmed up so she doesn't get sick and die anyways. First thing in the morning I'll take her to Medda's and see if she'll take her, I promise!"

Kloppman continued to stammer and shake his head as he moved to stand behind the counter. It was such a stupid rule that no girls were allowed in their lodging house past dark; it didn't matter how old or young they were, if they were female they weren't allowed past the foyer once the sun set. That's not to say they were free to roam the lodging house as they pleased during the day though, which they weren't, they were simply more likely to be permitted to catch a cat nap on one of the empty bunks or use the cleared out washroom to get cleaned up and wash their clothes should they feel the need to. The only time Dutchy remembered seeing a girl allowed to stay the night at their lodging house had been a few years back, and that had only been because she was too sick to be moved.

"No…no girls. Take her down the street to Saint James Church, the nuns will take care of her there."

Dutchy felt his blood pressure rise slightly and his jaw clench. "It's practically the end of the world out there and you want me to just dump her on the doorstep of a church? I'm not dropping her off at an orphanage, Kloppman. I won't. I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy. She'd only wind back up on the streets or in one of those _**damned**_ workhouses and I'm _not_ going to be the one responsible for that!"

Pausing, Kloppman lifted his eyes to look at the young man and the scared toddler. Through the years, he'd learned quite a bit about his lodgers pasts, their hardships and what had brought them to his humble establishment, but Dutchy had always been tightlipped about his; changing the subject quickly whenever it had been brought up or suddenly remembering he had some place to be and something to do. Kloppman could see the hidden hatred deep in Dutchy's sapphire blue eyes and knew that there were things he was keeping locked away from the rest of the world. Sighing heavily, the old man pressed his lips together and gave a slight nod.

"Alright. Just for tonight though. When you come back tomorrow evening, she best not be with you."

Dutchy gave a single nod before he turned to start back up the stairs, leaving only a puddle where he'd been standing behind. Watching him bound up the stairs, Kloppman sighed tiredly before moving about his nightly routine of turning the lights out and locking up.

The bunkroom, as usual for a stormy night, was a chaotic mess when Dutchy entered. Pillows were being hurled from one side of the room to the other, blankets hung down off of beds and across walkways in make-shift forts and barricades. Battle cries rang off the walls as younger boys leapt from bunk to bunk before diving for cover behind the walls of their "fort". Dutch stood in the safety of the doorway watching the War of the Newsboys rage on inside, a slightly amused smile playing on his lips. Racetrack was sprawled out on the floor closest to the door, having been a "victim" to a pillow hit, his eyes closed and his tongue hanging out the side of his mouth as he played dead.

"Hey! Hey D! Get over here we're bein'—OMPH!" Specs blinked rapidly as his glasses flew from his face and landed a good two feet to his left after he'd made the mistake to stand up from behind his barricade and was hit squarely in the head with a renegade pillow. "Hey! No head shots to the guys wearing glasses, remember!? Hold it! No one move until I get my glasses back!"

Dutchy couldn't help but laugh as he set the still soggy toddler down on the nearest bottom bunk and moved to scoop his best friend's round, silver framed glasses up off the floor before anyone stepped on them. Holding them out by the stems, he offered a partial smile. It was tough being one of the few guys in the lodging house forced to wear glasses; the other fella's didn't understand how important those things were to them, they didn't understand that without those glasses, those guys would be nearly blind as bats.

"Here ya go, Specs." He said the partial smile still on his face. Taking the glasses back and replacing them on his face, Specs smiled brightly and gave a nod before take a couple of steps back, his hand covering his nose and mouth.

"Whoa, D! You stink like the East River! What the hell man?"

"Hey! How comes it smells like fish in 'ere!"

"Ferget dat! Who's da quarter-pint?"

Turning back around and ignoring the questions and comments suddenly replacing the pillows that flew through the air, Dutchy moved back to the bunk he left the little unnamed girl on and shrugged. The whole way home he hadn't been able to get her to say a single word and really didn't know anything about her except that she somehow wound up in the river. The toddler had been glancing around the room, her large brown eyes brimming with tears at all the strange new faces and sounds. As Dutchy made his way back to her though, her eyes instantly lost their tears and sparkled brightly.

"I gotta get you in some dry clothes. Any of you little bums got some clothes she might fit in?"

The bunkroom was quiet as everyone stopped what they'd been doing, the "dead" rising from their places to stare at one of the oldest newsboys there. Surely he couldn't be serious? Of course there were young boys living among them, but no one near small enough to lend their clothes out to him.

After a moment of silence, there was the sound of one of the sparse trunks being opened before a smaller boy stepped forward, gently folded clothes hanging over his hands. Teeny moved closer to Dutchy, his eyes casted down upon the bundle in his arms. One of the unwanted, Teeny had found his way into the Duane Street Lodging House five years prior with his younger brother Tiny. Born midgets to "normal" sized parents, Teeny had fled his home at the age of ten to escape the ridicule of his drunken father. He'd told Tiny he couldn't follow him, that the streets weren't safe for a five-year-old, but Tiny hadn't listened; he'd followed because he loved his older brother unconditionally, and vowed that where Teeny went, he went. Tiny had died that first winter in the Lodging House, Teeny by his side the whole time.

Standing before the towering blond boy with glasses, the fully grown four-foot tall Teeny looked to the girl and gave a small smile. Yes, he had clothes that should fit her just right.

" 'Ere Dutch…try dese. I ain't got no use fer 'em…an' Tiny'd offer 'em up 'imself if he's could."

Dutchy looked down at the rarely heard, and even more rarely _seen_, fifteen year old newsboy. Dutchy and Racetrack had been the first two to find the small brothers and christen them with their nicknames. Blinking a couple of times as he realized Teeny was offering his deceased younger brothers clothes up so that another child shouldn't get sick and die in that bunkroom again, Dutch smiled slightly as he gently took the clothes from him.

"Thanks Teen, 'preicate it."

Turning back to the little girl with large brown eyes, he reached out to start peeling the wet clothes off her little frame. Pausing, his fingers grasping the sleeves of her tattered rag dress, he lifted his eyes to glance at the others over the rims of his glasses. Straightening himself up again, Dutchy scooped the girl up into his arms. Her giggles bounced around the room like brightly colored fairies as she smiled and clung to her rescuer.

Ducking into the washroom, he moved to the far end, farthest from the curious eyes of the boys he bunked with. Dutchy glanced around the washroom before setting her down, safely hidden from prying eyes between the wall and the counter area the boys used to house their shaving cups and meager supply of towels. Glad he didn't have to try and fuss with any buttons or hooks, Dutchy quickly removed her sopping wet clothes, gave her a once over drying with one of the towels left sitting on the counter, before getting her redressed in the slightly too big for her boys underclothes, dark brown knickers, and light grey shirt.

"Don't worry, kiddo. Medda'll be able to get you back into those stuffy doll clothes tomorrow." He said as her stubby little fingers picked at the scratchy sleeves of the shirt. Taking hold of her hand, Dutchy sighed as he slowly walked back out into the bunkroom, tossing her wet clothes into a wash basin as he went by.

"So, Dutchy? Does your little girlfriend have a name, or is she just 'Hey Little Girl'?" Snipeshooter questioned from his bunk where he was struggling to get his bedding back together.

"Yeah!? Where'd ya find 'er?" Asked Snitch who was in the process of trying to find his pillow once again.

Looking down at the smiling face before him, Dutchy shrugged as he moved off towards his own bunk. "I dunno what 'er name is. She hasn't said a single word since I found 'er."

"Alright, an' you found her…where?" Itey asked as he hopped up onto the top bunk he was still forced to share with the thumb-sucking Snitch.

"Down at the South Street Seaport. I was headin' back here an' heard cryin', looked out under the bridge and there she was, floatin' down the river in a wooden cracker barrel."

Swifty looked up and over from where he was untangling the web of sheets that had once made up his bunk bed fort and frowned slightly. "If she's floatin' down da rivah…how'd'ja get 'er out? Ya din't act'chilly jump in dere, di'ja?"

Rolling his eyes, Dutchy plucked at his own soggy clothes and raised a straw colored eyebrow at him. "No, I just decided to bathe in a bucket of dead fish. Course I dove in after 'er. Ya think I was just gonna let 'er drown?"

"You saved her life?! Dutchy, man that makes you a hero! A real honest-ta-God hero! You should…you should get like the key to the city or something for that!" Mush Meyers smiled brightly, his round brown eyes twinkling as he looked between his friends and fellow lodgers. All nodded in agreement as some voiced their words of approval for his bravery.

Setting her down on his top bunk, Dutch shook his head as he dug around in his shared trunk. Tugging out his spare pair of summer undershorts, he pulled his suspenders down and set his glasses on the bunk next to the child. "No, it makes me an _idiot_. We both nearly drowned trying to get back to the docks and none of ya's would have ever known."

"Nearly isn't did, D! You saved dis little kid's life. Whaddya gonna do with 'er? Ya gonna keep 'er?" Specs questioned as he moved to lean against his best friend's bunk. Smiling at the girl, he wiggled his fingers at her, reaching out quickly to tickle at her sides as she giggled and curled up into herself. Specs watched out of the corner of his eye as Dutchy changed from his soggy clothes and into his moth-eaten undershorts. Gulping hard and smiling back at the little girl, he continued to try to tickle at her sides while Dutchy moved to hang his clothes over the edge of the bed to dry.

"Nah. I told Kloppy I was gonna take her over to Medda's first thing in the morning. She'll have a better idea as to what to do with her than I do," Dutchy paused as he glanced at the smiling face of the eighteen month old. So much about her reminded him of his own baby sister Pasha. Swallowing hard, Dutchy looked back to his clothes. "What do I know about takin' care of a little kid like her, huh?"

Specs frowned at Dutchy. He hated seeing him get upset over what had happened to Pasha. Skittery had been the 'depressed' one of the bunch, not Dutch. It never failed though, that anytime someone brought up anything that triggered a memory in that blond head of his, Dutchy would become just as 'glum-n-dumb' as Skitts was and generally shut down emotionally for an hour—sometimes more. Stepping away from the toddler, Specs placed a hand on Dutch's shoulder, giving it a light squeeze.

"Hey, don't start dat again, mistah. We've been over dis before, dere wasn't anyt'in' you coulda done. Alright? Now, why don't you an' da li'l skirt take my bunk tonight? Less of a fall if she rolls off."

Actually breaking into a slight mischievous half-smirk, Dutchy wiggled his eyebrows at Specs as he moved to pick the girl up off his bunk once more. "It's gonna get crowded with the three of us on that bunk, but okay. Just watch your knee this time, will ya? I've kinda gotten used to things bein' where they are down there; don't need or want your knee rearrangin' things on me in my sleep, it's not fun."

Though it wasn't exactly the biggest secret in the world that the two boys' friendship went slightly beyond that of 'brotherly love', most of the boys pretended not to know what went on between them and did their best to act as if they were just like all the other 'skirt-chasers'. There had in fact though, been a number of times in the past year and a half that the pair had been caught holding each other in the washroom when they thought no one was around, or were found snuggled together on one or the other's bunk like a couple of lovers. Still, given how poorly "_those kinds of people"_ were received and treated, neither were quick to admit their feelings for each other were anything more than that of basic best friendship to the rest of their friends.

Specs glanced around the bunkroom nervously as he give a light chuckle and shook his head. "Dat's _not_ what I meant, and you know it D. You and the mini-skirt take my bunk, I'll sleep in yours."

Laughing softly as his little find snuggled herself into his arms, her face nestled into the crook of his neck, Dutchy flashed his dazzling smile at the brown haired teen. "Oh, got'cha. Alright, thanks Specs. An' if ya get lonely…"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, dat's what my hand's for."

"That's not what _I_ meant, but okay…"

"A'right, lights out ya bummah's. Get in ya bunks, go." Racetrack ordered, walking down the line of bunks as he moved off towards his own. Younger newsboys scurried for their bunks while older ones scoffed and waved the oldest resident newsie off, taking their sweet time getting back to their own beds. Dutchy chuckled softly before looking back at Specs. Already having taken off his glasses, hat and over-shirt, he turned to hand Dutchy his own glasses back.

"G'night Dutch."

"Night, Specs."

Allowing themselves a gentle gaze that lingered for a moment longer than 'just friends' should allow a gaze to linger, both parted ways—Specs climbing up onto the top bunk usually occupied by a far more fare-haired boy, Dutchy and the now sleeping toddler moving to lie in the bed most often used by his dark-haired best friend.


	5. Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE

_Sweat poured down Dutchy's face, plastering his shaggy blond bangs to his forehead and the back of his neck as he walked down the boiling hot streets of New York. The summer sun beat down mercilessly upon the city residents, wilting the flowers that thirsted for just a taste of rain. The whole city longed to see the dark clouds of rain once again. 'One of the Worst Heat Waves in History Continues' was what that mornings headline read, and boy did it ever continue. So many lives had been lost due to the heat, newborns, infants, children, teens, adults, elderly—all perished in the heat; no one was spared or immunized to it, some just had a higher tolerance for it than others. _

_Dutchy had heard stories of places out west and down south that would get so hot and dry that even the tiniest of sparks would send about a devastating wild fire, destroying all in its path and leaving nothing but charred and blackened ashes in its wake. Of course, people still talked about that nationally known "Chicago Fire" that had wiped out the majority of the booming city. The thought of that possibly happening in his own hometown had made the twelve year old slightly on edge. He'd break into a cold panicked sweat whenever one of the older boys would light their cigs or toss a butt to the dirt ground._

_Moving down the dusty street, he fanned himself with his last paper. He wasn't far from the Saint James Orphan Asylum and wondered if he were to tap on their back door to ask for a class of cool water if they'd recognize him and try to take him back in. He'd left there three years prior after spending a grand total of five months in their confines. He'd hated it with every ounce of his being. He hated being told to wash up, sit up straight, comb his hair, say his prayers, make his bed. What gave those nuns the right to boss him around? Just because his mother had died when he was four and his father shortly after he'd turned nine didn't mean they automatically got to play boss to him. Tearfully leaving his seven year old sister behind where he knew she'd be safe and taken care of, he'd packed his few meager things and snuck out into the streets._

_Pasha, God how he missed her sweet smile and angelic voice. She'd been the only family he had left and he'd forced her to stay behind while he made his escape. The streets were no place for a girl like her though and he knew it. Someone would take her in, he was certain of that when he'd left. He'd been wrong though. No one came to take her in. For nearly a year now she'd been working long hard shifts at a shirt factory, sewing buttons onto cuffs. He would see her from time to time as she sleepily exited the building, her once bright eyes dull and red with lack of sleep. There was a small hunch forming on her back from being hunched over shirt sleeves for hours at a time. Dutchy hated the shirt factory for what they'd done to his beloved baby sister. She was only just ten years old that day and already moved like a crippled old woman. _

_Dutchy had made sure though, that each year on her birthday he would find a way to make it special for her. Having a younger sister who'd been born only one month after his second birthday had always made him feel like she'd been his belated birthday present. He'd wanted to buy her some of the pretty flowers she had always liked, but Dente the flower vendor had none due to the heat wave. Chocolates would have melted the moment he stepped outside and candies would have turned into a sticky mess in his pocket if he'd bought those. No, that day was her tenth birthday and Dutchy had vowed he would treat her to something very special that day. He would take her to his favorite little eatery—Katz's Delicatessen down on Ludlow and East Hudson—followed by a very special ice cream treat that was sure to bring out the little girl in her that he'd always known. _

_He smiled as he inhaled deeply. He could almost smell the smoked ham and taste the charred roast beef now. His mouth watering and eyes closed, he nearly was run down by the fire brigade's horse drawn water carriage as it went hurtling past him, bell dinging loudly and urgently. Eyes shooting wide open, Dutchy stopped in his tracks as he realized that wasn't the smell of smoked ham or charred roast beef he'd been drooling over; it was a fire. _

_People screamed as they ran to and fro, frantically looking for loved ones. The roar of the fire smothered all other sounds save for the shattering glass and popping of wooden beams as they collapsed. Sickening screams for help soon bounced off the brick walls; cries of agony and despair filled Dutchy's ears as he took off at a dead sprint down the street, dropping his single paper as he ran. A cold lump formed in the pit of his stomach as he mentally calculated where the smoke and screams were coming from. The smoke burned at his eyes and lungs as he rounded the corner and froze in horror._

_The Brown Shirt Factory was nearly completely engulfed in flames. Firemen rushed about, doing their best to keep the fire from spreading onto any of the neighboring buildings. Policemen on foot and horseback ordered people to stay back and let the men do their work. Bodies littered the dirt covered street, some crawling pathetically away from the building while others lie still in stomach churning positions. Screams from inside the building were beginning to fade away under the snapping floorboards and angry thunder of the fire as it gutted the majority of the small family owned factory. _

_Mr. Brown stood across the street, watching mournfully as his entire livelihood continued to burn, his wife and three children sobbing in horror. Bolting past rushing firemen and under the outstretched arms of yelling policemen, Dutchy ran at the distraught man, fear and panic in his sapphire blue eyes. _

"_Have ya seen my sister!? Where's Pasha?!" Dutchy demanded his ink covered hands reaching out to take hold of Mr. Brown's business suit._

"_It's gone…it's all gone…everything…" the man answered dumbly as he continued to watch his building burn to the ground. All around them women sobbed as the men did their best to help in any way possible. Except for Mr. Brown. He could only stare in dumbstruck horror. _

_Dutchy growled low in his throat as he shook his head and tightened his hold on the man's jacket._

"_I don' care 'bout yer stupid factory! Where's my sister?! Where's Pasha? Pasha Kolesnik! Have ya seen 'er?!"_

_Unable to get an answer from any member of the Brown family, Dutchy shoved hard at the man's chest before turning back to the workers who had managed to escape. Running towards them, the lump growing bigger and bigger with each passing moment that he couldn't find his sister, Dutchy begged and pleaded with people to help him find her. It was her birthday; she'd only just turned ten that morning! He had to find her! Shouting over the noise, he struggled through the crowd, turning young girls around so that he could see their faces before pushing them aside and moving on to the next._

"_Pasha!? Has anyone seen my sister?! Pasha!? Please? Please ya gotta help me! I gotta find my sister, Pasha! Somebody had to have seen 'er! Pasha!? Has anyone seen Pasha Kolesnik?!" He cried struggling to find someone—anyone—who may have seen his sister and knew where she was. His heart racing and his mind spinning, Dutchy had reached a near frenzy when the heavy hand landed squarely on his shoulder, bringing him to an abrupt stop._

"_You look for Pasha Kolesnik, yea?" a thick eastern European voice asked sadly from behind him. Dutchy spun around, his eyes wide and wild with concern. _

"_Yeah…I am! She's my sister! Have ya seen 'er?! Do ya know where she is?! Is she ok?!"_

"_Pasha, she no come out whit udders. She go to find friend, make sure friend get out. No friend, no Pasha." The man answered sadly, glancing from Dutchy back to the fire that was slowly being brought back under control. Dutchy felt as if he were suddenly trying to swim through quicksand. His ears filled with a loud humming like millions of gnats fluttering about as his knees began to wobble against each other. _

"_No…no that…that can't be true. I don't believe you! NO!! PASHA!!" Yanking away from the large burly fabric cutter, Dutchy turned and ran towards the swaying building. Any moment the walls would collapse down on themselves, smothering out some of the fire and give the authorities a better chance at extinguishing it sooner. It would also trap any remains that had once been someone's beloved. _

_Police yelled for Dutchy to stay back, that the walls weren't stable, but he didn't listen. He couldn't listen. He had to find his sister and if it meant running into a burning building to do so, then that was exactly what he'd intended to do. Still screaming for her, the twelve year old moved swiftly past any adult that got in his way. He'd nearly made it to the inferno when the final support beam gave within. In one horrifying second, the walls came crashing down upon themselves, crumbling as if they'd been made of nothing more than discarded newspapers. The final burst of near volcanic heat erupted from inside as the walls crashed down, knocking the blond haired newsboy flat on his back._

"_PASHA!! NOOO!!"_

Dutchy's eyes shot wide open as he gasped out loud, a cold sweat plastering his bangs to his forehead. The bunkroom was silent save for the few scattered snores and bed frame rattles. The dusty grey light of pre-dawn was just starting to creep into their muggy sleeping quarters as Dutchy blinked in confusion at the bunk above him. How'd he get to be on a bottom bunk? Why wasn't he asleep in his own bunk? What was that smell?

Reaching up behind his head for his glasses, he frowned when he felt something nestle down against him. Placing his wired framed glasses back on his face, he looked down to see what was making itself so comfortable against him. It was too small and not nearly heavy enough to be Specs but he at least took some comfort in knowing that it was also too big to be any kind of rodent or stray animal. Squinting through the darkness, he finally recognized the matted mess of light brown hair of the little girl he'd pulled from the river the night before. Groaning and closing his eyes again, Dutchy cringed inwardly as he dropped a hand down over his face, suddenly realizing just _what_ that smell was.

_The warm spot shoulda given it away, D._ He thought to himself as he carefully moved to get up. Sighing and cringing once again, he gently picked the still sleeping little girl up and carried her to the washroom. It'd been _years_ since he'd had to deal with a little one that wasn't yet potty trained and honestly, he hadn't minded. A small sniffle escaped the girl's lips as she took in a soft shaky breath.

"Shh…it's ok. We just gotta get ya cleaned up. We'll get ya cleaned up, get some breakfast in yer tummy, an' then be on our way." Dutchy said quietly as he set her down one of the wash basins. Looking down into the sleepy and rather confused brown eyes of the little one, Dutchy frowned and prayed she wouldn't burst into the screams and sobs of a typical cranky tired toddler. Reaching for a wash towel, he quickly and quietly set about removing her soiled clothes.

"Woo…sorry Teeny," he muttered to himself as he tossed the knickers into a basin at the other end of the wash line. Wet wash towel in hand, Dutchy moved as gently as he could to get the toddler cleaned up. It wasn't an easy task to keep a squirming kid still long enough to get all the dirt and other grubby marks off her, but somehow he'd been able to do it.

Nodding in satisfaction, Dutchy looked around the washroom for anything else he could possibly dress her in. Noting a small discarded shirt, he moved to pick that up followed by moving to Specs' trunk to retrieve a clean shirt to wrap her in. Picking her up out of the basin once more, Dutch moved to lay her down between the wall and wash line once more. The bunkroom was starting to grow brighter which meant any minute Kloppman would be trudging up the stairs to start the morning chaos. Wrapping and tying the discarded shirt around her little waist as a make-shift diaper, he quickly slid the still buttoned shirt over her head and couldn't help but laugh and smile slightly as the head opening drooped over one shoulder. Straightening it, Dutchy scooped her back up and moved off towards his bunk.

"Now you stand here, ok? Can you stand right here for me while I get dressed?" He asked setting her down on the floor next to his bunk. Blinking a couple of times, the little girl finally gave a little smile and nodded. _Well at least she understands English_, he thought as he carefully dug through his trunk in search of a spare pair of pants and a shirt.

A soft yawn followed by the squeaking of bed springs came from above him. Glancing up, Dutchy smiled softly as he looked up into the blinking brown eyes of a half blind Specs. His slightly curly brown hair was a tousled mess and sleep still lingered in his eyes.

"Dutch? What ya doin' up so early?" Specs yawned as he moved to stretch. Smiling more and pulling out a pair of clothes that actually belonged to his bunkmate Squints, Dutchy stood and placed a hand on Specs' shoulder.

"I have some runnin' around I gotta do. Go back to sleep. Ya got at least another fifteen minutes before Kloppy comes up to start wakin' you all up." He answered quietly as he gently pushed his friend back down towards the pillow. Specs gave a tired groan as he closed his eyes again and snuggled in.

"A'right…I'll see ya for lunch."

Smiling softly, Dutchy nodded.

"You bet'cha." He whispered. Chuckling softly as he heard the gentle snore escape his lips, Dutchy turned to take the toddler's hand and start off for the tiny kitchen for food.

"C'mon quarter-pint, let's get you some breakfast and take you over to Medda."


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer reminder: Nope...they still aren't mine...except for Quarter-Pint/Krista...she is mine...she's adorable, don't go kidnapping her from me!**

**Author's note: There is a part towards the end in which Dutch is talking with Mrs. Jacobs and she gives him the dresses Sarah and the boys used to wear as toddlers. For those of you unfamiliar with the way dressing kids back in the day went, it is my understanding that regardless of gender, all children until the age of about five I believe, were dressed as little girls. Which means, yes, David and Les would have had to wear dresses until the age of five in which they traded in the dresses for knickers. So, that's all I wanted to point out. I hope you enjoy it; I've been working quite hard on this story and I'm very proud of it so far. Please be kind and leave a review. Review unto others, as you would have them review unto you. :nodnod: =oP  
**

* * *

CHAPTER SIX

"Oh Dutchy, she's precious! She's like a little doll!"

"So you'll take 'er then, Medda?"

"What? Me? Oh good heavens no!"

Dutchy's shoulders slumped and his face fell as Medda shook her head and moved for her dressing table. His charge, whom he'd taken to calling Quarter-Pint until someone would take her and name her for themselves, was fascinated with Medda's makeup and powders and was doing her best to get her little fingers on some of them. Running a hand through his hair, he sighed heavily as he replaced his hat on his head and moved to follow the older woman.

"But…ya said she was precious, wouldn't you like to see this precious face every day and doll 'er up in little skirts an' stuff?"

Medda laughed merrily as she scooped Quarter-Pint up before she could reach the rose scented face powder. Placing a kiss on her chubby little cheek, Medda turned back to the blond boy and smiled sympathetically.

"Dutch, I'm a woman, I think all little ones are precious, but if I went around taking in all the babies I thought were precious then, well, my theater would look like one of your lodging houses. Besides, this is no place for a child to grow up, and I am certainly the farthest thing from a matriarch."

"A what?"

"A mother figure. Oh sure, occasionally I'll take in a stray, but never anyone this little and never to _raise _them. I'm sorry, Dutchy, but I just can't do it." The Swedish Meadowlark answered apologetically as she moved to hand the little girl back to Dutchy. Quarter-Pint smiled brightly as she reached out for the familiar face, her fingers stretching to pluck the hat right off of his head. Frowning slightly, Dutch swatted at her hands before looking back to Medda.

"What am I supposed to do with her though, Medda? A lodgin' house isn't any better than here and I don't know the first thing about takin' care of anyone this little." He protested, his hand continuing to swat at hers in an attempt to get her to leave his hat—and glasses now—alone.

Medda smiled sweetly at him as she moved to place a caring hand on his shoulder. "Dutchy, you have so many good qualities about you that it's simply amazing how little confidence you have in yourself. It's obvious you haven't been doing such a horrible job so far; she certainly seems to have taken quite a liking to you. Besides, you have so many friends that I'm sure would be more than willing to lend a hand with her if you ask. Or, if all else fails…there's always the girls over in Brooklyn."

"She'd get eaten alive over there. She'd be better off in an asylum than over there with those rubes." He muttered as he shook his head sadly in thought. Quarter-Pint giggled lightly as she pulled her fingers from her mouth and moved for the gold colored frames once more. Making a face as he pressed his lips together in a stern frown, Dutchy caught the little hand in his as it moved for his now horribly smudged glasses and shoved it back down to her side. "Will ya knock that off? I don't go smudgin' up your vision, do I?"

"Dutchy! That's no way to talk to her; glasses can be cleaned." Reaching out to take his glasses from him, Medda frowned and gently wiped the lenses clean again. Something told her there was more to Dutchy not wanting to keep and take care of the little girl than what he was letting on. She had seen him with the younger kids; he was–in her opinion—the best with them and had always seemed like one of the few who longed for a family to call his own. Of course she knew all the newsies had at one point in time wanted the same thing, many still did for that matter, but Dutchy had always been the more sentimental one about it.

Dutchy frowned slightly and sighed as he allowed the little girl to tug his hat off and place it on her own head. It was no use trying to stop her; the minute he let go of her hands, she was back at it trying to get her way again anyways. Setting Quarter-Pint down and taking a firm hold of her hand in one of his, he used the other to reach out and take his glasses back from the woman.

"Thanks Medda, and sorry I wasted your time. I'll let ya get ready for your show now. See ya later." He said softly as he adjusted the frames and glanced down at the funny looking little girl. "C'mon QP, I ain't carryin' you the whole rest of the day. Let's go see if Dave's parents will take ya, they've got a spare bed now."

Giving her hand a tug, the lanky eighteen year old moved for the stage door he'd entered through and stepped out into the blinding sunlight. The city bustled around him as Dutchy looked out into the crowds that rushed by. Few people cast a disapproving glance at the pair while others pretended to not notice them. Glancing down at Quarter-Pint again, he sighed heavily. He was going to have to find her more suitable clothes besides his friends over shirt and his hat. Quarter-Pint tilted her head back to look up at him and smiled brightly. There was a trust in her eyes for him that broke his heart. His sister's eyes once held that same trust, and what happened? He'd let her down. It was because of him that she was sent to a factory and to her death.

"Don't do that…you're gonna kink your neck if you keep doin' that." He chastised gently, bending down to pick her up once more. Who was he trying to fool, anyway? If he managed to lose her somewhere between Irving Hall and the Jacobs' apartment, Dutch was sure he wouldn't be able to live with himself for it. With a giggle so sweet it could put church bells to shame, Quarter-Pint wrapped her arms around his neck and nestled herself in against his shoulder.

As Dutchy walked the city streets, Quarter-Pint in his arms, he couldn't help but give a very faint smile. A part of him was actually enjoying holding the toddler and having her snuggled in against him, soft short puffs of breath brushing across his neck as she was bounced to sleep; while another part of him was cringing in disgust at the feeling of a warm damp spot forming at his collar where her little mouth was hanging partly open. The people passing by wouldn't even give him a second glance as they brushed by; shoulders of the busy businessmen slamming into his own as he would turn just enough to keep them from bashing into the sleeping little girl in his arms. Mothers busy with their own children would glance up briefly as they would pass by and not think twice that perhaps that little girl was lost and some poor mother could have been desperately searching for her.

Dutchy stopped at several places he knew of that could have housed young mothers and questioned if anyone there had ever seen the little girl before or if they knew who she could have belonged to. Each place he tried, he received nothing but a sad shake of the head as an answer. Various allies that were home to a number of homeless had women there who could have been the girl's mother, who claimed to be her mother, but their frantic eyes and desperate voices hinted to Dutch that—while the women could have been mothers at some point in time in their lives—they were not the mother to this particular little one. Quarter-Pint's wide eyes and fear of the women confirmed his suspicion every time, forcing him to make a hasty retreat and continue his way to the Jacobs family apartment.

Meyer and Esther Jacob had become friends to the newsies three years prior when their sons, David and Les, began selling papes with them. David had even been the one to—though jokingly at the time—suggest that the newsies go on strike to protest their unfair treatment by the newspaper tycoon Joseph Pulitzer. From that day on, whenever a newsie was in need of a meal, a warm place to stay for the night, or even needed their socks, shirts, or pants mended, they would turn to the Jacobs and never once left disappointed.

The year before had brought about big changes for their family though. David had finished his last year of high school and after a summer of interning at the New York Sun under guidance from their friend Bryan Denton, had moved to Boston where he had gotten a job as a copy editor at a smaller paper. His sister Sarah, who for a time had been seeing Jack "Cowboy" Kelly, had married an up-and-coming businessman from Buffalo after Jack had finally gone through with his dream of moving to Santa Fe, New Mexico. Which left just the youngest child, Les, at home to help in any way he could; and which also left the space needed for another child to grow and be loved.

Stepping up to the brown and red brick tenement, Dutchy readjusted the little girl, shifting her just enough for her to be able to look around and still be able to keep one arm around his neck and her other hand in her mouth. Glancing at her, Dutch gave a little smile and shook his head.

"Keep chewin' on that an' you're not gonna be hungry for dinner." He joked as he very carefully moved his way up the narrow staircase to the third floor where the Jacobs lived. He could hear the sounds of other babies and children crying through the paper thin walls and felt his stomach begin to tighten in guilt. True his own formative years had been spent crammed into a small two room apartment with two other families from the 'old country', and while he'd been happy there, he could still hear his mother softly telling the others her wish of giving her children a place with enough space to stretch and grow, of a yard with soft bright green grass and perhaps even a grove of trees with a brook running through for them to explore and play pretend in. Being crammed into too small apartments that housed too many people was no place for a baby.

Sighing heavily, Dutchy lifted his hand and knocked briskly on the door. A part of him was beginning to reconsider asking the Jacobs to take the small girl, was praying they would actually decline taking her just as Medda had just so he could try to find a place outside of the city for her to live. Quarter-Pint smiled brightly at Dutchy as she pulled her soggy fingers from her mouth and wrapped them around the collar of his shirt. He hated to admit that the child seemed to have taken quite a liking to him and probably was going to have a difficult time letting go of him should Esther decide to take her in.

A moment later, the door opened and there before him stood the middle aged mother of three and surrogate mother to many more. Her dull sandy blond hair with streaks of silvery-grey was pulled back into a loose bun on that top of her head, but her smile and bright eyes showed the young woman she still was at heart. Wiping her hands on her apron, Esther Jacobs opened the door wide and smiled brightly out at him.

"Well Dutchy, what a pleasant surprise! Won't you come in?" She asked, her eyes darting from his to the little girl shying away in his arms. Dutchy gave a small smile as he nodded and reached up to remove his hat, only to find it was still resting on Quarter-Pint's head.

"Afternoon, Mrs. Jacobs…thank you," He answered politely. Stepping into the small apartment, Dutch reached over to remove his hat from Quarter-Pint's head and tuck it safely into his back pocket.

"I was just about to call Les back inside and have him run to fetch you. I meant to have this for you yesterday but time escaped me and I just didn't seem to have it done in time." Moving for the chair in the corner, Esther picked up what appeared to be one of Meyer's old shirts with a few patches sown in here and there where the fabric had worn thin. Giving a slight smile, Dutchy moved to set the little girl down in the chair as Esther moved back towards him. "I certainly hope it fits you, it may be a bit big actually now that I get a good look at you. It breaks my heart seeing how thin you boys all are. Well, try it on; let me see how it fits."

Taking the grey stripped shirt from her, Dutchy slid his own faded and filthy tan shirt off and laid it carefully across the kitchen chair. The shirt certainly seemed like it would fit him and as he slid his arms through the sleeves, he couldn't help but blush just a little at Esther's lighthearted laugh.

"Heh…it is just a little bit big on me, yeah. Thank you just the same though." He said glancing down at where his hands should be but instead saw nothing but shirt cuffs.

"Well, you can always roll the sleeves up. Better to have it a bit too big than to have it be just a titch too small."

Smiling, Dutchy nodded as he buttoned up the front of the shirt partway and slid his suspenders back up over his shoulders. "Thank you, again Mrs. Jacobs. I'll bring over the shirt Kloppman gave me some time; it'll probably fit Les better than it does me."

Quarter-Pint smiled up at Dutchy as she reached her hands out for him to pick her up again. Casting an aggravated glance her way, the teen rolled his eyes and shook his head. His arms were just starting to regain their feeling after hauling her all over the city and the burning he felt pulsing through his upper arms was worse than anything he'd felt before. Bottom lip protruding, Quarter-Pint stood up on the chair, stretching her arms out as far as her fingers could stretch, opening and clasping her fists in the 'gimme-gimme' sort of way. Sighing heavily, Dutchy shook his head once more.

"I'm not pickin' you up again. My arms hurt. Just sit there, will ya?"

Esther raised an eyebrow at Dutchy and glanced back at the now pouting little girl. She had noticed how the child had clung to the teen when they entered the apartment, but had decided not to question him about her right off the bat. Deciding it was finally time to ask some questions, Esther moved to pull a small stack of crackers from a tin can next to the sink.

"And just who do we have here, Dutchy? She's certainly adorable." She said, placing the crackers down for Quarter-Pint to munch on.

Plopping down into the chair next to the girl, Dutchy ran a hand down his face and gave a heavy sigh. He watched as she happily picked up a single cracker and held it out to him. It brought a tiny smile to his face. She was a sweet kid, and sure seemed to be completely at ease with him, as if she'd known him her whole life. Taking the cracker from her, he smiled slightly and set it down in front of him.

"Thank you…you eat those now. Ya haven't eaten yet today…" he said, tapping the table next to the crackers to get her attention before looking back up at the still waiting older woman.

"I dunno what her name is; I've been callin' her Quarter-Pint. I found her floatin' in the river last night and rescued her. I can't find her mother or who she might belong to or anything…I can't even find anyone who will take her in. Which is why I came by, actually. Uhm," pausing to awkwardly rub the back of his neck, Dutchy felt the tips of his ears start to burn in mild embarrassment, "would you and Mr. Jacobs be able to take her in? I've tried everyone else I know, but no one wants her and I'm not gonna hand her over to an orphanage just so when she gets old enough she gets sent to work in some rotten workhouse."

Esther frowned slightly. Turning to pull a glass down from the doorless cupboards, she filled it with water and set it down next to the stack of crackers on the table. Setting a towel down across the back of the chair, she leaned against it in thought. She could hear the reluctance in Dutchy's voice and saw the way his eyes softened when he looked at the toddler. The toddler, in turn, was non-stop smiles as she looked from her crackers to her savior and would move to set one cracker on top of his other one before putting another in her mouth carefully.

"Dutchy," She finally started as she shook her head slowly, "I would love to help you, but my days of bringing up toddlers are finished. Les is a teen now himself and in a few years will be leaving to be on his own. Meyer and I have to save as much as we can to ensure that Les is able to continue his schooling. I'm sorry, but I'm afraid we won't be able to do that."

For a brief moment relief washed over Dutchy as he heard those words leave Esther's mouth. He'd get to keep her after all! His joy was short lived however, when he remembered that he didn't have a real place to call home except for the lodging house and Kloppman had already told him when he got back that night, he wasn't to have the little girl with him. Plus, he was only eighteen and could barely support himself let alone a growing child. And on top of it all, was the knowledge that no matter how attached the girl was to him, she wasn't his responsibility. What was he supposed to do with her though? Toss her back into the river and pray his guilt didn't eat him alive? Leave her on the doorstep to one of the upscale homes near Central Park where maybe a maid or butler would take pity on her and take her in?

Lowering his head slightly, Dutchy watched as his blond bangs slipped into his line of sight, obscuring the look of the plain wooden table he was seated at. He'd never gotten to fully experience a family life like David and Les had; a warm home with three meals a day—no matter how scant the meals where, a caring mother and a strict but understanding father. The only knowledge Dutchy had on family life was the nine short years he'd spent with his father and sister, crammed into their shared apartment. Now it seemed this poor little girl would have even less of a family life than he'd gotten.

"What am I supposed to do with her then, Mrs. Jacobs? I already swore I wasn't going to drop her at an orphanage…so…what do I do?" His voice was as soft as his eyes as he looked back up at her in saddened confusion.

Smiling softly, Esther moved to place a hand on his shoulder. "Why don't you keep her yourself? It's clear that she's taken quite a shine to you, and from what I've seen so far, you don't seem to mind having her around all that much either." Dutchy gave a light snort of mild amusement as he rolled his eyes and shook his head in disbelief.

"Dutchy, I have seen you with the little ones, and I have even seen you with the younger kids on the street playing ball. You are a natural with children. The little ones look up to you. This little one in particular, it would seem." Esther laughed lightly as Quarter-Pint climbed from her chair carefully and moved to pull herself up into his lap once again. As she snuggled in against his chest, Dutch felt his heart melt completely and knew that what Medda and Esther had told him was true. Maybe he could convince Kloppman to let him keep her after all. She was just a little girl, how much trouble could she be?

Shaking his head, he frowned sadly. "Kloppman told me she couldn't stay with us. If I want back in that lodging house tonight, I can't have her with me."

"Jedediah Kloppman is a man of many things, but a cold hearted man who would turn a boy and a toddler girl out onto the streets is certainly not one of them." Esther tsked as she moved for a chest at the foot of what had been Sarah's bed. "Besides that, he was a father once upon a time himself if I recall; refusing to let you stay there because you failed to find this girl's mother or a suitable home for her would be too much like refusing to let his own son stay there. He would never allow that."

Dutch knew Esther was right about Kloppman, or at least, he _hoped_ that she was right about him. True, he'd had stashed away some money for a rainy day or should he ever need it for anything, but it certainly wasn't enough for him to spend trying to find a rundown apartment for them to stay in. One arm instinctively wrapping around the little's waist to keep her from sliding off his lap, he reached to slide her glass of water over to her while she munched on the last of her crackers, crumbs falling all over the front of her barrowed shirt and onto his brown pants.

"Now…first matter of business, she is a beautiful little girl, which means you can't keep going around calling her 'Quarter-Pint'. You don't want her growing up thinking that's actually her name, do you?" Esther questioned as she dug feverishly through the trunk. Tilting his head to one side, Dutchy shrugged and watched cautiously as the girl's tiny fingers wrapped around the heavy glass and began lifting it to her mouth for a drink.

"No…I guess not. But I don't know what her name is; I don't even think _she_ knows what her name is. I haven't heard her say one single word since I found her."

"It's possible she hasn't started talking yet, Dutchy. I remember Sarah started speaking around her age; David started when he was just a bit younger than her; and Les didn't say his first word until he was over two years old. Give her time. Until then though, she'll need a name."

"I don't know what to name her though; I've never had to name anything before."

Esther looked up from the trunk and smiled as she sat back on her heels and shook her head. "It's not all that difficult to do. It can be whatever feels right, or a family member. I found, that if I just sat silently for a moment while I was carrying all three of our children, the names would just come to me."

Frowning, Dutchy sat silently as he watched the toddler started to wiggle out of his arms in an attempt to go see what Mrs. Jacobs was doing. He tried to think about all the girl names he had ever heard; Nadia Vera had been his mother's name, but that one was special and no one but his mother was allowed to have that name; Pasha Lucinda had been his sister's name, a name he was none-too-eager to hand out either. Then, like a runaway trolley, it hit him. Krista Anna. He'd heard the name shouted from a third floor tenant window when he'd been just about eleven years old and had thought then that it was probably the most beautiful name in the whole world—next to his mother's and sister's names of course—and if ever came the day he would have a little girl of his own, that's what he would call her. _Krista Anna Kolesnik_. It had a nice ring to it.

Turning the little girl so she was facing him, Dutchy's small smile grew as he looked into her eyes. Yes, she definitely looked like a Krista to him—not that he had ever actually seen who this Krista was that had been called to, but he was certain that she had to have been fair-haired with big brown eyes like this little one was.

"Alright Quarter-Pint…how's Krista sound for a name?"

Brightness radiated off of the girl's face as she giggled merrily and snuggled herself in against him even more. Her fingers wrapped around the sleeves of his new shirt while her face pressed into the dirty white undershirt he had on. Given the fact he couldn't rightly remember the last time that shirt had been decently washed, Dutch was sure it couldn't have smelled all that great, but Krista didn't seem to mind as she inhaled deeply and nuzzled against his chest, her ear pressed right against him to listen to his heart beat.

Esther looked up from the trunk as she moved a few more items and stood up. Smiling, she closed the lid, picked a few white pieces of cloth off the bed, and moved back towards the table. Setting the articles of clothing down carefully, she looked up at the pair and knew that Krista was in good hands and that Dutchy would be just fine taking care of her.

"Krista is a very nice name and suits her nicely. Here are some of Sarah's and the boys' toddler clothes, they should fit her just about right. If they don't, bring them back and I can alter them so that they do." She said as she laid out the little white and faded blue dresses that had once belonged to her own children. Dutchy looked at the little dresses and nodded as Esther laid out a few pairs of thin stockings as well as a dingy pair of high-lace boots not at all that different from the shoes he was wearing, except for the obvious size difference of course.

Finally laying out a folded stack of much thicker looking cloth, Esther moved to pick Krista up off of Dutchy's lap to lay her down on the empty bed at the side of the room. Glancing back to the table where Dutch still sat, she motioned to the pile of clothes. "Pick up one of those and bring it over here please, Dutchy. If you're going to take care of this little angle, you're going to have to learn how to truly take care of her and how to properly put a diaper cloth on her."

Half-way to the middle-aged woman, Dutchy's heart and shoulders fell nearly to his feet as he looked at the thick square of cloth he held in his hand. Groaning and lowering his head, his eyes closed, Dutch heaved a heavy and defeated sigh as he moved to hold the cloth by one corner and reluctantly moved to learn all Esther had to teach him about proper parenting.


	7. Chapter 7

CHAPTER SEVEN

"Yer kidding me, right? Dutch, I swear ya was _born_ a faddah! Ya play games with all da younger kids, tuck 'em in, tell 'em stories…ya are a natural faddah." Specs leaned back in his chair at their table in Tibby's Restaurant and smiled. Though Dutchy had been nearly twenty-minutes late getting there and had walked in carrying the little girl now called Krista, Specs really wasn't much upset. If anything, he was almost relieved to see that his friend still had the toddler.

Dutchy rolled his eyes as he hoisted Krista up onto his lap again to keep her from running through the crowded little restaurant. The last thing he wanted was for her to dash under the feet of a preoccupied waiter and cause him to spill whatever he might be carrying. Handing her a part of the sandwich Specs had offered to them when they arrived, he sighed.

"That's not what I'm worried 'bout, Specs. Kloppman told me she had to go somewhere today and,"

"And she did! Huh? Yeah, ya went ta meet Medda, and ya got ta see all sorts of things in da city, and ya got ta meet Mrs. Jacobs. Ya went lots of where's, taday didn't'cha?" Specs smiled at Krista who was giggling as he leaned across the table to tickle at her sides and arms as he spoke to her. Glancing back at his best friend, he smirked and shrugged. "I wouldn't worry 'bout Kloppy if I'se you, D. He can be a cranky old coot, but ya know as well as me he ain't gonna toss ya out jist cuz ya still got 'er. Hell, let 'im hold 'er for two minutes an' I bet'cha he'll deny ever sayin' she couldn't stick around."

Oh if only Dutchy could believe that. True, the little squirt had managed to weasel her way into his heart in just a matter of a few short hours, but that was different. He'd rescued her from the river, brought her in from the storm and had given her a safe place to sleep when it was obvious no one else would. He'd grown to be protective of the little girl. A part of him had vowed when he saved her that he was finally going to do something worthwhile and maybe even try to ease his guilty conscience. The death of his only sister still weighed heavily on his shoulders and perhaps by taking care of and protecting Krista, he could finally lift that weight and be able to move on.

"'Sides," Specs continued, bringing Dutchy out of his thoughts, "have ya looked at dis little doll? She's a goldmine, I'm tellin' ya! You'll be rollin' in da dough in no time with 'er 'round when yer sellin'."

"I am not going to use her as a sellin' prop. C'mon, she's not even old enough to really talk yet. I finally got one word out of her on our way here, 'wa'wa'. Don't know what it means…but at least she has a voice."

"Wa'wa! Wa'wa!" Krista's voice chimed like tiny bells as she smiled brightly and reached for Dutchy's glass of soda-pop.

Catching her fingers before they could tip the glass over, Dutchy sighed and shook his head. "Ya can't have my soda. Here…have some wa," pausing and tilting his head to the side in silent thought, he quirked an eyebrow and gave a small chuckle, "wa'wa. Water. That's what she was askin' for on our way here. She wanted water."

Specs laughed as he moved to place the half-full glass of water in front of the little one. Her fingers slick from her sandwich, Krista frowned as the glass slipped from her fingers and slid out of her reach once more. Picking his napkin up, Specs gently took her hands and gave them a quick wipe down before holding the glass for her.

"'Ere darlin', how 'bouts I hold it for ya. Go on…take a sip, promise I won't pour any on ya."

"Yeah, if you do it's gonna land in my lap and then I'm gonna hafta hurt ya." Dutchy threatened as he watched Krista place her little hands over those of his friends so she could pretend to hold the glass and take a drink. Smirking, Specs wiggled his eyebrows and shrugged.

"Meh, I'd clean it up."

"You would too, that's what scares me."

Laughing, Specs set the glass back down before shaking his head and picking at what was left of his lunch. "Ya gonna eat or not? Cuz if ya ain't, QP an' me is gonna finish dis off."

"Will ya quit callin' her that? Her name's Krista. Mrs. Jacobs told me not to go calling her by any nicknames; it'll confuse her and she won't know what her name really is." Reaching around the little girls shoulders, Dutch picked up a piece of potato and popped it into his mouth.

"It ain't gonna confuse 'er. I've been goin' by Specs since 'fore I can remember an' I still know me real name."

"I thought Clarence was the name Kloppy gave you when you showed up there."

Specs narrowed his eyes as he glanced around the restaurant. The blond was lucky none of their friends were still there to hear him say that. While it wasn't the worst name in the world to have, Specs still preferred not to have it be made public what his real first name was. Shaking his head slowly, he pulled his plate out of reach of Dutchy's hand and frowned.

"Clarence Aloysius Hoffman." He grumbled, glaring darts at his best friend. "I told ya dat a hundred times. Dat's da name dat's written on da inside of dat book I have…along with da names of me muddah, faddah, an' bruddahs. Yer lucky yer holdin' QP, otherwise I'd hafta soak ya for dat."

Cringing inwardly, Dutchy mentally kicked himself for having brought that subject up. Though Specs had been nearly a lifelong resident at the Duane St. Lodging House, he did have few scattered and vague memories of a time in his life when he had a family also. Specs couldn't remember how or when he got separated from his family. Kloppman had told Dutchy once that they had died during the "the Great White Hurricane" of 1888—a freak spring blizzard that had completely shut down the entire East Coast and killed more than four-hundred people—when he was four and that Specs himself nearly fell victim to the frigid temperatures that had claimed the lives of his family's lives. He'd been found half froze and unconscious in a rundown tenants building in Brooklyn by police doing a check once the weather had gotten just a bit better, his mother's lifeless and frozen body wrapped around his to try and keep her youngest son from succumbing to the sub-zero temps.

"Sorry Specs," He apologized softly, instinctively running his hand down Krista's frizzy hair in an attempt to smooth it out. Deciding to change the subject, he glanced back at his friend and shook his head again.

"Like I said before though, I'm not gonna use her as a sellin' prop. It just ain't right."

His face losing its somberness, Specs gave a slight smirk. "Da goils in Brooklyn do it."

"Yeah, the girls in Brooklyn also use the Red Light District to their advantage, but I'm not about to do _that one_ either." Dutchy answered as he rolled his eyes and shook his head. That had been another reason he refused to take her to the girls in Brooklyn. Come to think of it, there wasn't any newsgirl lodging house that he felt Krista would be safe and taken care of in.

Girls were catty, prone to fights over stupid things, and while the bunkroom across the street where the two boys had spent the majority of their lives was often filled with the ruckus of fights, at least theirs were generally all in good fun and hardly ended with anyone getting hurt, whereas the girls seemed to cause more injuries with each other in their fights than the boys ever had. He'd seen the sort of things the girls did when they fought; scratching at each other's arms or faces with their cat like claws, digging their nails into each other so hard it drew blood, hair pulling and biting, kicking and punching. When he thought about it, Dutchy realized he never wanted to get into a fight with a girl—they obviously didn't fight fair. Boys at least fought somewhat fairly; closed fist punches to the stomach or face, simple and to the point.

"Why not? I think…wait…nevah mind what I think." Giving a fake cough and glancing away innocently, Specs rubbed the back of his neck while Dutchy pretended to never hear a thing to begin with. Looking down at the smiling face of the little girl in his arms, he knew Specs was right about her. With her smile there next to him, there was no doubt that he'd see an increase in his selling profits.

"Ya know it's not like ya'd be sellin' 'er or anythin'. Jist face it D, we ain't as cute as we used ta be. Da older we get, da harder it is ta sell. People don't feel sorry for grown boys livin' on da streets. But gorgeous little goils like Krista 'ere, dey'd see 'er angelic little face an' dat smile…pity sells. You an' me both know it. 'Sides dat, she'd be earnin' 'er keep. Ya'd be able ta pay Kloppman ten cents for da two of ya's, so it ain't like she's gonna be roomin' for nothin'. But seein's as how you ain't sold for two days straight," Specs paused to level him with an agitated glare, "I guess I can bum ya da dime for tonight."

It hadn't even occurred to Dutchy that he'd missed the morning edition. He might have a chance bringing in a little bit of money with the evening edition, if there was a decent headline and he could get people to see him and buy a paper.

Specs had hit the nail on the head when he said it was getting harder for them to sell. People really didn't take much notice to the older boys on the streets, to the businessmen and women who passed by them, they were just another bum looking for a handout. Before too long, he'd be chased off by the police on horseback, the same police who two years prior wouldn't cast a second glance his way would suddenly see him as an adult; the children standing out in front of stores and shops hawking headlines were taken pity on, while the adults were viewed as a business hindrance. He'd seen it before where grown newsies had been chased from their usual selling spot by shop owners who felt their appearance and shouts were frightening off customers.

Skittery and Bumlets both had been the lasts to fall victim of such an event. Both had always been decent newsies, but shortly after turning eighteen they had been forced to give up trying to sell when they realized they'd lost their childish appeal and no one cared for their well being. True, they'd been able to get fairly good jobs—Bumlets putting on little shows for people passing by in Coney Island and Skittery as a dockhand at the South Street Seaport with Pie Eater—and were able to support themselves on their own, but that still didn't change the fact that Dutchy was quite content being a newsboy; he enjoyed spending all that time outdoors and if he were to get a job in a shop or factory he was sure he'd go crazy.

"Nah, don't worry 'bout it. I'm gonna sell tonight. You mind watching her for me?"

"Jist take 'er with ya! Sweet holy Sabbath, D! I'm tellin' ya, she don't even gotta do anythin' but jist sit next ta ya and look cute."

Reaching into his pocket and dropping a few coins down onto the table for his meal and both drinks, Specs stood up and readjusted the bowler hat that sat atop his wavy brown hair. Fixing his glasses and reaching out to pick Krista up off of Dutchy's lap, he moved to the side to allow his friend to stand before starting for the door. As the trio stepped out onto the busy and bright street, Specs sighed heavily. While it wasn't exactly cool inside the restaurant, stepping out onto the sun-baked streets felt as if they'd just stepped off onto the surface of the sun. Using his free hand to remove his hat, he carefully fanned himself doing his best not to bop the girl in the face as he did so.

"Alright, look. I'll take 'er for a little bit, but I'm tellin' ya, yer gonna wish ya brought 'er along with ya. I heard earlier da news has been so slow, they almost wasn't gonna print an evenin' edition taday. If dat's true, dis little goil would be worth 'er weight in gold. But, ya don't wanna use 'er as a prop, dat's fine. Me an' QP will jist go stay in da bunkroom till ya get back. Maybe Race'll teach 'er how ta count cards."

"Guiltin' me isn't gonna work, Specs. Just take her for a little while, will ya? Tomorrow I'll take her with me, but I don't know how late I'm gonna be out tonight and if I'm gonna be out half the night tryin' to sell papes, I'd rather she be inside where someone can watch her so she doesn't wind up back in a barrel floatin' down the river, ya know?"

Smiling as he hoisted Krista a bit higher in his arms, Specs couldn't help but give a slight chuckle as he shook his head. "See dat? Ya's a natural born faddah. A'right, I'll take care of 'er tonight fer ya. We'll see ya back in da bunkroom later."

A small knot formed in Dutchy's stomach as he heard his friend's words. Ever since he'd been a young boy, he'd been told that one day he was going to make a very good father and for a time he'd believed that. When his own father died, however, and he'd gone so far as to abandon his younger sister in the church orphanage, his faith in those words had faded. If he couldn't even take care of his own sister—the only family he had left—and wasn't able to save her from the shirt factory and death, what chance did he have at taking care of his own child?

"Yeah, I'll see ya's back there," He answered softly before turning and starting off towards The World Distribution Center.

As he walked, hands shoved into his pockets and his head slightly bend downward, he thought back on all the younger newsboys he'd helped to take care of since arriving at that lodging house. There'd been quite a few of them in the nine years he'd spent living there. Tumbler, Snipeshooter, Boots, Jolt for a time before he left to live in Brooklyn, Penny-Pincher, Singe and Shadow, just to name a few. A few of the boys—like Boots and Snipeshooter—still lived at Duane St, while most of the others had moved on to other houses or had simply decided they were tired of playing homeless and had gone back to the loving arms of their worried families. Others hadn't been so lucky though, newsboys like Tiny and Copper hadn't gotten to enjoy their lives long enough and each time one of them gave in to the winter's brutal cold weather or whatever illness they'd had, a part of Dutchy died with them. To him, it was like losing his beloved Pasha all over again.

"Takin' care of those guys is different than playin' the part of a dad, though," He muttered to himself as he walked, "they aren't _really_ family. None of them looked at me like a replacement father, they looked at me like I am…just one of the older boys tryin' to help the younger ones get through their lives."

Without even giving it a conscious thought, Dutchy stepped up to the window to collect his twenty-five papers for the night. Moving back out onto the streets, he allowed his thoughts to continue.

Maybe, if he treated Krista like she was simply just one of the younger newsies, he wouldn't get too attached to her and wouldn't let himself think of her as being his. She wasn't, after all. She belonged to another family, one that he would probably never know. Though, if they could let her float down a river leading out to the ocean in a barrel, then what right did they have to call her their daughter? He'd been the one to rescue her! He'd brought her in out of the cold and rain; cleaned her up and put her in fresh clothes—granted the clothes were far too big for her but at least he'd gone and gotten her ones that _did_ fit her! Besides, she didn't seem to mind the fact that until the night before he'd been a perfect stranger to her. In fact, Medda and Mrs. Jacobs were right in saying the little girl had seemed to have grown fond of him and he'd be lying to himself if he said he hadn't grown even the slightest bit attached to her also.

What if he did keep her? He could find another job so that he could support himself and her. How hard could bringing up one little girl be after all? Obviously not too hard if there were plenty of skirts running around.

"Don't do it, Dutch. She doesn't belong to you so you can't even think about that. Besides, Kloppman already said there was to be no girls in his lodging house…which means she either has to go into an orphanage, or come winter you both freeze to death in an alley." He warred with himself as he shook his head and moved to stand in his usual selling spot. Businessmen had already begun their evening rush home from work and were quickly passing him by without even so much as a second glance.

Leaning back against the cast-iron fence behind him, Dutchy blinked at the paper in his hand, skimming it over in hopes of finding a decent story for him to use in order to sell. Specs was right, nothing seemed to be happening. He supposed he could try to use the story about the female textile workers going on strike, but people were so used to strikes happening any more that no one would really care. Frowning, he sighed softly and shook his head in an attempt to clear it. Why did his thoughts always keep drifting back to that little frizzy brown haired girl back at the lodging house?

"Dutchy! Just the man I've been looking for."

Quickly looking up and turning his head, Dutchy looked through the crowd before spotting the one man who had faith in their cause three years prior. Dressed in his typical brown suit with bowtie, Bryan Denton smiled as he gave a slight wave to him and approached. Denton had been a friend to the newsboys when they needed one most. Many times in the couple of weeks during their strike he'd bought them all lunch or dinner at Tibby's and often times would stop across the street to see Kloppman and pay for them to stay there when they couldn't afford to.

"You're out selling rather late, aren't you?" Denton questioned as he stepped up and extended his hand to the teen.

Reaching out to shake his, Dutchy shrugged and gave a pathetic slight smile. "Well, I had some things I had to try and take care of this morning, so I wasn't able to sell with the others."

Nodding in understanding, Denton reached into his pocket and pulled out a coin. Though the man worked for a rival paper, he would still occasionally help the boys out by buying at least one of their papers, ensuring that they got a little bit of money that day.

Waving off the change and tucking his evening edition under his arm, he gave a slight smile as he reached into the inside pocket of his jacket. "I've been looking for you almost all day, no one had seen you though. Do you remember those pictures I let you take a few weeks ago? The ones of the other newsboys and some of the girls from Brooklyn?"

How could he forget? Being allowed to use Denton's box camera had been like a dream come true for him! It had been so much fun getting everyone to pose just right so he could take their picture or in the case of the girls who had come over for their weekly visit with the boys, snapping a photo or two of them without their knowledge. He'd wondered how the pictures had actually turned out, if they had at all that was.

"Yeah, I remember. Did they turn out looking like nothing at all?"

"On the contrary, they turned out quite nicely," removing a small piece of wrapped paper, Denton held it out for him to take. "You have quite a talent there, Dutchy. So much so that I submitted them to a magazine I wrote a story for about the living conditions and general life of the children and teens in our workforce. The magazine loved the pictures and paid me a dollar a piece for them. Doesn't seem right me keeping the money for your pictures, so here."

Dutchy's jaw dropped as he looked up from flipping through his pictures. There in Denton's hand was three two-dollar bills. Heart stopping, he stared at the money in awe. The silly little amateur pictures he'd taken had actually sold? They'd not only sold but were also going to be in a real magazine?

"S-six dollars? I…I can't take that, that's way too much!"

"Six dollars for six pictures. Dutchy this is your money; the magazine loved the pictures you'd taken, this really is all yours. I figure you'll be able to buy papers, lunch, dinner, and room and board for at least a few weeks on this without worry. Just one thing, we need to properly credit who took the pictures, what name would you like me to tell them?"

Mind swimming as he reached his hand out to tenderly pluck the six dollars from his friend's hand, Dutchy gulped hard. Six whole dollars, all for him. It was more money than he'd ever had at one time in his life! Dumbly, he shook his head. "D-Dmitri…Dmitri Kolesnik."

Denton smiled and gave a small chuckle as he nodded and wrote the name down on his little pad of paper. Holding it out for Dutchy to check the spelling, he patted the teens shoulder. It was the first time ever that Dutchy had revealed his real name to anyone—not even his own best friend knew what his real name was.

"Right. Well, Dutchy, if you ever decide it's time for a new occupation, come see me. The Sun is always looking for good photojournalists and I think you'd work just fine."

"Uhm…o-okay, thanks Denton. Really." Tucking the six dollars into his pocket and his pictures safely into the pocket of his vest, Dutchy held his hand out once more and gave a sincere appreciative look to the older man.

Smiling, Denton nodded and shook his hand. "You're welcome. Take care of yourself."

Watching as the man disappeared back into the crowd, Dutchy felt as if he were floating six feet off the ground. His luck certainly seemed to have changed for the better and maybe, just maybe, if he became a photographer for The Sun he'd be able to keep little Krista after all. Smiling brightly and throwing his fist into the air, clutching a paper tightly, he began to call out absurd headlines.

"Earthquake separates California from rest of United States! New Country is formed!"


End file.
